


Fools Rush In

by krsive



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Aged-Up Morty Smith, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eating Disorders, Famous Rick Sanchez, Fluff, Gun Violence, Heroin, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Incest, Jealous Morty Smith, Jealous Rick Sanchez, Kidnapping, Latino Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Let's call this what it is, M/M, Masochism, Maybe a little bit of Bottom!Rick Sanchez, Mentions of trafficking, Morty in a Dress, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Rick/Birdperson, Prison, Rick Whump, Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, The Flesh Curtains, Things to look forward to:, Top!Rick Sanchez, Trainwreck Rick Sanchez, Whump, Young Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), dark themes, did I mention that?, heavy drug use, some violence, to be decided - Freeform, two idiots in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28405191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krsive/pseuds/krsive
Summary: Rick Sanchez is a hard-partying rock and roll god standing on the cusp of his biggest tour yet. Morty Smith is a little more than down and out, washed up and on the verge of homelessness. When they meet on the Citadel, neither of them could predict the ways in which the red strings of fate would soon connect them.This is a love story.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 123
Kudos: 97





	1. The Butterflies In Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThatFineWine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatFineWine/gifts).



> Hey, guys! Thanks for joining me for this new journey I'm going on. I'm so freaking stoked to post this one, I just couldn't wait one more day. This piece is dedicated to my lovely girlfriend ThatFineWine. Go follow her on twitter @thatfinewine ! Morty 616-B belongs to her. I'd also like to thank StormClouds for helping me with the Spanish throughout this fic.
> 
> Please keep in mind that more tags will be added as I write and publish chapters. Keep an eye on them, and I'll also add content warnings where I think they're appropriate.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

Morty had just finished a double shift at Pickled Rick’s, one of the 8th Residential Level’s most beloved watering holes. Twelve straight hours on his feet, dealing with drunk Ricks pinching his ass and throwing up on his shoes. He had just finished clearing his last table, an 8-top of Business Ricks who hadn’t taken it easy on the appetizers _or_ the drink orders. Even factoring in famously stingy Rick tipping, Morty was expecting to make enough from the table to finish covering his phone bill and buy himself the first hot dinner he had eaten all week. He could practically taste the RickDonald’s Triple Bacon Sanchez Deluxe meal right now. He put the last glass in the sink for the poor dishwasher Rick and let his tired feet carry him back out to the dining room to collect his prize.

Only, instead, he walked in on Morty J-112 pocketing the fat wad of bills that had been left on the table. _His_ table. _His fucking table_ . J-112 was the owner’s Morty, so he got away with anything he wanted. Well, _not today_. Fuck him in his stupid little babyface.

“Hey! That’s mine!” Morty said. “Give it back!” One warning. J-112 had one chance.

“Not anymore. You snooze, you lose, 616-B.”

Morty grabbed J-112 by the collar and hauled him off balance, reaching into his pocket and pulling the money out. He jumped away when J-112 reached for it. They tussled and played keep-away, drawing stares from diners and drinkers. Morty was pretty sure he heard a Rick taking bets. It was going fine until Rick J-112, _his boss_ , came up behind them just in time to see him finally truly lose his temper and break his Morty’s nose with a single, solid punch.

Morty’s mind spun out. They were definitely, _definitely_ going to press charges. The cops were going to come for him. They were going to find out that he was squatting in his apartment illegally. He was going to jail.

Before he could put any more thought into it, Morty pivoted and ran.

  
  


***

Rick G-013 was riding high. On top of the world. Over the moon. 

It was a beautiful, sunny day on the Citadel. Every day was a beautiful, sunny day when you lived on the Citadel. The weather was artificially generated, after all. Sunny with a high of 75, all year ‘round, except for snow at Christmas (Ricks said it was to keep the Mortys happy, but they all knew they themselves got sentimental about the holidays). It had been hard to adjust to at first, even harder than living with millions of older copies of himself. Rick liked to think he took things in stride, but the never-changing weather had made the days blur into one another eerily. Now, though, it was just another fact of Rick’s life, and one he could finally appreciate. The cheerful sunshine really did wonders for the whole ‘gold’ theme the place had going on.

He stood out like a sore thumb on the crowded Citadel street, but he had never minded a little extra attention. He was from a dimension that was asynchronous to most others, which meant that, while most Ricks were pushing 70, G-013 was pushing 30. His hair hadn’t greyed yet. He cared for his appearance. He had a modicum of fashion sense, though it admittedly ran towards the punk-rock aesthetic. He _oozed_ that New Money smell.

He had never been married. He had never had a Beth. He wasn’t, strictly speaking, a terrorist, and he wasn’t wanted by the Galactic Federation in his dimension. On the contrary, he was the successful inventor of a number of biomechanical devices and the bassist for the Flesh Curtains--a rising star of a band. Everyone was going crazy over them right now. And the day after tomorrow was the beginning of their first galaxy-wide tour.

Yes, everything was coming up Rick.

He started to whistle as he strolled, looking up at the placid blue of the projected sky (complete with wisps of holographic clouds), when someone ran into him, nearly knocking him to the ground. He reached out instinctively and grabbed the person by the arms, steadying both of them.

It was a Morty, a plain Morty--maybe a few years older than the others, with less baby fat and just slightly broader shoulders--wearing a wrinkled dress shirt and black slacks, with a black apron tied around his waist.. Rick’s eyes darted over him, taking in details. Bruised and bloody knuckles. A spray of tiny blood droplets across the collar. ‘Pickled Rick’s’ embroidered in tiny script on the bottom corner of the apron. 

“Lemme guess, I shoulda seen the other guy,” Rick said with an easy grin.

“What? Oh, uh huh.” Morty looked over his shoulder, staring into the crowd expectantly.

Yeah, Rick was familiar with that look. “You wearing an undershirt?”

“Am I--excuse me, _what_?” Morty asked, finally actually turning his attention toward him.

“An undershirt. So you can take off the evidence,” he said, pointing to the blood on his collar.

“Oh shit, oh geez,” Morty said. He started unbuttoning the dress shirt, revealing a grubby white undershirt beneath it..

“The apron, too,” Rick pointed out. “Just drop it on the ground.”

Morty numbly obeyed. Rick grabbed him by the arm and tugged him into the crowd. They walked for a while together before Morty seemed to come to his senses. He wrenched his arm out of Rick’s hands, startling him. Rick turned towards him, quirking his brow as he saw storm clouds gathering above Morty’s head.

“What gives?” he asked, affronted. _You try to help a stranger…_

“Y-Y-Y-You’re kidnapping me!” Morty accused him, sticking a finger in his face.

“What the fuck, you little ingrate. I just helped you dodge the law! _My_ ass is on the line, here.”

“ _Your_ ass?” Morty scoffed.

“Yeah! I’m pretty recognizable, don’t you think? See any other Ricks my age around here?” Cross, Rick took an exaggerated look around.

That seemed to jog something loose in Morty. He fell into a crouch like a block tower crumbling to the ground. “It doesn’t matter,” he groaned. “They know my dimensional number. I-I-I-I’m fucked.”

Rick cleared his throat. He didn’t have a lot of experience with Mortys. He didn’t really want to get messed up in someone else’s shit right now, but he felt a certain tug at his heartstrings. The kid’s pretty hazel eyes looked so defeated.

“Listen, kid. Where’s your Rick? I’ll take you to him, keep you safe from the cops, and he’ll know what to do, ok? C’mon, it’s...it’s not _that_ bad. You didn’t kill anyone--I mean...right?” Maybe he should have asked that first. Oops.

Morty shook his head. “I don’t have a Rick.”

“The Morty school, then?” Ok, not _as_ good, but still an authority figure. That had to be worth something.

“No.”

“Mortytown?” Fuck. Rick could feel himself getting pulled in. Morty just shrugged his shoulders. Rick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ok. New plan. You’re coming back to my place.”

“Wh-What?”

Rick didn’t give him any time to argue. If Morty argued, Rick was going to be talked out of his good deed for the decade. He grabbed Morty by the arm again and hauled him to his feet.

“Ow! Let go!”

“Call for help. I dare you.” 

That seemed to settle Morty down. Rick stewed in his own juices as he dragged Morty through the streets. This was so, so stupid of him. This wasn’t his grandson--he wasn’t beholden to this Morty in any way. No, this was a lapse in judgement, a moment of weakness. Rick had always been a bleeding heart for a sob story. He knew what it was like, and--

_No. Not going there_. 

They weren’t actually far from Rick's townhouse; he had just left it to go run errands. He was half expecting Morty to bolt when he let go of his arm to unlock the front gate. The slight thrill he felt when the kid just stood, awkwardly rubbing his elbow, was probably just a symptom of his infinitely generous nature.

Yeah. Right.

Really, it was just an adrenaline rush, being realistic about it. Rick had very little experience with Mortys. A few Ricks he knew had their own, but with the exception of K-331's none of them had ever spent time with him. And Rick K-331 was a jealous bitch; Rick supposed that was what came of being from a Soulmate universe. In fact, wasn't that precisely why he was so curious about this Morty? So many of his cosmic counterparts were deeply tied up in theirs. Mortys had always seemed so plain to him. It just didn't make sense why Ricks were wrapped around their little fingers. Maybe he was about to get some insight.

The wrought iron gate squeaked on its hinges, setting his teeth on edge. He really needed to get that fixed. He beckoned Morty down the short path and opened the heavy, Spanish style front door. 

The interior of Rick's townhouse was dim, and it smelled of dust and weed. The ceilings were high, meant to give the house an airy feel, though it was a bit ruined by the pervasive clutter. He took an immediate right into a living room that resembled the Platonic Ideal of a bachelor pad. The couch was large and plush, but pillows and light blankets were thrown around haphazardly. Sheet music and medical textbooks were strewn about the coffee table, as well as baggies of various pills and powders that spilled out of a wooden box in the center. An electric bass leaned against the couch and a cello took up one corner. The only other furniture was a repurposed dresser which held up the huge TV. Morty looked distinctly unimpressed.

"Sit down," Rick said, gesturing vaguely to the couch. He bustled about, 'cleaning,' which more or less consisted of shuffling piles of papers from one configuration to a nearly identical second one. In the end it still looked like a library had exploded all over the low table and the floor around it. Fuck.

Morty sat, fidgeting and following Rick with his wide hazel eyes. Rick tried to keep from staring right back, satisfying his curiosity with stolen glances for now. The teen looked weary, wrung out down to the bone. As soon as he sat down he slumped like a marionette with snapped strings. There were heavy bags under his eyes. He looked lost and haggard and aged. For a stove-hot instant they locked eyes. Both looked away. 

"So what the fuck happened, anyway? " Rick asked, just to fill the room with anything but foggy silence. He sat down on the opposite end of the couch and, out of habit, pulled his bass into his lap. Running quiet arpeggios would give his nervous fingers something to do.

Morty laughed, high and fluttery. An unhinged melody. "I broke someone's nose. Oh god, I'm going to jail."

"No one's going to fucking jail," Rick said. "Will you just calm down?" His hands flew over the strings in Fibonacci spirals. "You don't have a Rick," he mused, "you don't go to the Morty School. Clearly you don't have a job anymore." Morty let out another crazed laugh. "Ok, I'll tell you what. You work for me, now." 

"Doing what?" Morty's shoulders stiffened. He studied Rick out of the corner of his eye. 

"Carrying my shit. I could use another roadie. Day after tomorrow I get my portal gun back. My band is going on tour." _No big deal_. Not as if Rick was preening like a peacock. "You sneak off the Citadel with me, come on tour to earn some money, and in a couple months when it's over I'll drop you off wherever you want to go. Home to--" 

"616-B," Morty supplied. "Not there."

Rick waited for an elaboration that never came. "Whatever. Be cagey--I don't give a shit. The point is, you'd be an idiot to turn me down. I'm being pretty fucking generous over here."

"Excuse me if I'm skeptical of a Rick's 'generosity.'"

"Whatever fuckery went down with your grandpa has nothing to do with me." It had been a dart thrown in the pitch black, but Rick had always been a gambling man, and he struck a bullseye. Morty crossed his arms over his chest and chewed his lip while he gazed at the floor. This was good. Rick was learning things.

"I mean, you're him. You're _all_ him. So just do me a favor, ok, and tell me what the catch is. I'm too tired to play games."

"Fuck you, you little bitch. I try to do something nice for you and you take a shit on it?" Rick was thoroughly affronted. He stopped playing and ran his left hand absently up and down the neck of his bass. Morty's eyes followed it. 

"You're really in a band?"

"Not to be a vain bitch, but we're kind of a big deal in my universe."

"What are you called?"

"The Flesh Curtains," he said, adding a middle-school snicker. "Get it? It's like--"

"Yes! I get it. Geez."

Rick doodled absently on the bass. He was chewing things over in his mind. What he needed now was an olive branch. He'd be damned if he let a _Morty_ ruin his charitable act. Morty’s eyes had been following Rick’s fingers up and down the strings for a while now. He stilled the instrument and gave Morty a good-natured smile.

“You want to try it out?”

Morty made a noncommittal sound, which wasn’t a denial, so Rick thrust the bass into his hands. 

“We’re gonna learn fucking ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,’” he said.

“What about _regular_ ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star?’” It was the chillest thing that Morty had said this whole time. A joke. A _bad_ joke, but a joke nonetheless. He seemed interested, looking down at the instrument as if it would tell him its secrets.

“We got a funny guy over here,” Rick snorted. “Hold it in your left hand. Good. Curl your fingers a bit--no---like _this_. Alright, so it goes...C, C, G, G, A, A, G…” He tried to point out where Morty should press down with every note, but it was frustratingly inefficient. He could see Morty start to get fed up. He could see his olive branch dropping to the floor. That absolutely would not do.

He stood up and shooed Morty to scoot down the couch, sliding in behind him. He easily wrapped his arms around and put his hands over--

Oh.

_Oh_.

Rick felt his heart do a little flip. His hand cradled Morty’s. Morty’s hand was _so small_ . Tiny and soft, it fit perfectly inside of Rick’s large, calloused one. It was like the joining of two puzzle pieces, as if they had been hewn from the same rock and now fit perfectly together. He swallowed hard. This was no time to get carried away with some kind of new Morty fetish or whatever this was. He was supposed to be earning trust. He was supposed to be ingratiating himself. He could see the way his breath stirred the small curls behind Morty’s ear and _wow_ , ok, he had always known he was oversexed but Jesus fucking Christ--couldn’t he think with something other than his dick for five minutes? Was that too much to ask?

Morty craned around to look at him. He squirmed a little in Rick's lap. “Rick? I f-feel kinda dumb right now...”

“Chill out, Morty, fuck. Ok, pay attention, alright?”

Slowly, Rick pressed Morty's fingers to the strings. He called out the name of each note as they played it. Then they did it again. And a third time.

"Now you," said Rick, taking his hands away.

"I don't think I can."

"Of course you can. Morty, I could do this when I was _three_."

"Three? Seriously?"

"Yeah. I was a late bloomer. C'mon, let's hear it; I promise not to laugh or whatever."

Morty's deep breath was surprisingly shaky. He played the correct notes in the correct order, though, which Rick had honestly not expected.

"Good job. But you have no rhythm, white boy. Again." Rick sang along very softly to help him keep time. "Estrellita ¿dónde estás? Me pregunto qué serás…"

By the end of a few verses, Morty was making something that could pass for music. Rick was feeling awfully proud of himself. He'd never had the patience to teach anyone something before. He'd never respected teaching as a profession. Now, in this moment of vicarious triumph, he thought he at least understood why people did it.

"Lesson two," he began, filtering all excitement out of his voice. Before he could go on, though, Morty yawned so hard that a little shiver ran up his spine. His jaw practically unhinged like a snake's. "Jesus. It's like noon."

Morty scooted around, presenting Rick with his button-nosed profile. "My shift at work started at like 10 last night. I was supposed to be asleep right now. With a full stomach."

"Right. Ok. Pizza it is." Rick felt like a bit of a jackass now. He hadn’t really considered Morty’s needs. "Take a shower in the meantime. I hate to break it to you, but you smell, kid."

***

Morty almost felt guilty for standing in the shower for half an hour. Almost. It had been too long since the last time he’d had a hot shower, though, and this Rick looked like he could afford the water bill. He had told himself that he would get out when the water started to cool down, but there must have been some rich-Rick wizardry going on because hot water kept beating down on his tired shoulders and washing his tension down the drain. A warm haze kept passing before his mind's eye, an alluring herald of sleep. This was the perfect place to think, though. He didn't think that Rick would just burst in here. Probably.

This Rick was peculiar, and Morty wasn't sure what to make of him. No Rick was trustworthy, of course, but no matter how he turned it over in his head he just couldn't guess what his ulterior motives here were. His offer was too good to be true, by far. An escape from this gilded prison in exchange for a summer's work? Morty knew by now that there was no such thing as a free lunch. So what the fuck did Rick want from him? Whichever way he came at the problem, he could only come up with one thing it could possibly be.

Sex.

So, could he do it? Rick was young. He was handsome. So far he had been mostly kind. The little bass lesson he gave had been nice. Morty couldn't deny that his heart had stuttered when he put his arms around him, surrounding him with the entwined scents of expensive cologne and cheap tequila. But he was a _Rick_. In his very essence he was the same as Morty's grandfather, the unbelievable asshole who had abandoned him here. Morty didn't trust Ricks. So maybe there would actually be some relief if he just fucked him and got the transactional nature of this arrangement out in the open. Provided that he could do it without puking. 

Downstairs the doorbell rang. Reluctantly, he got out of the shower. He was starting to sway on his feet, anyway. 

His borrowed clothes were hopelessly oversized. The neck of the black teeshirt insisted on falling over his shoulder. At least the basketball shorts had a drawstring. He left the boxer briefs. Too weird. 

He clung to the bannister all the way down the stairs, scared to fall. When he finally rounded the corner into the living room, it was just in time to see Rick snort a line of something off the top of the pizza box.

"You took long enough," Rick said, wiping white powder off of his nose. "Sit. Eat."

"Sorry."

"Whatever."

Morty slinked back into his spot on the couch and accepted a paper plate laden with pizza. The savory aroma hit him and all at once he felt hunger flood his stomach. He fell to like a beast at a trough, barely chewing the first slice. After the second he noticed that Rick was watching him. Just sitting there, watching.

"Where's yours?" Was this Rick a vegetarian or something, passing on food just because Morty had asked for pepperoni?

Rick's cobalt eyes flicked to the side for an instant. It almost looked like a flinch. "Yeah, I already ate before you tackled me." He took out a remote and turned the TV on, flipping through channels too fast to really tell what was on. 

"Oh." So Rick had bought a whole pizza just for him. There was that discomfort again, a cold sensation that replaced hunger at the forefront of his mind.

He put down his plate and took a steadying breath. The ease with which he reached out and touched Rick's shoulder troubled him deeply. He was about to literally whore himself out; shouldn't he be feeling more trepidation right now? What was it his grandfather always advised-- _don't think about it_. He ran his hand up Rick's shoulder and rubbed a small circle into the side of his neck with the pad of his thumb. Rick turned his head, fixing Morty in an intense stare. He suddenly felt like a butterfly pinned to a card. They breathed, trapped in the moment

"What are you doing? Fuckin' weirdo," Rick said at last.

"Uh…" Had he miscalculated? "I guess I'm really tired." The excuse made no sense and he knew it, but add a dash of awkward chuckle and maybe Rick would swallow it, anyway.

Rick blinked at him, turning things over in his head. "Mortys are fucking bizarre. Ok, whatever. You need to sleep?" He took a moment to consider. "Or maybe an addy? keep you awake?" he asked, as if that were the polite thing to do. _Mortys_ were the bizarre ones?

"No thank you. Maybe just a nap, though?" It felt rude, but Morty was so weary that his bones creaked and ached. He was only 18. If Pickled Ricks had given him premature arthritis or something then he was definitely going to sue.

"C'mon." Rick got up and cracked his back with a satisfied groan. "I'll change the sheets for you."

They filed upstairs. Morty realized with horror that Rick had brought him to his own, personal bed and not a guest room. The mess that speckled the room with detritus including--was that a _used condom?_ \--was at odds with the fine, minimalist decor. As Rick set about changing from dusty purple sheets to sea grey ones, Morty shifted his weight back and forth anxiously, feeling discomfort fill him like cold water until it was spilling over the brim. 

"Maybe I should just sleep on the couch," he said. 

"Morty, don't make this creepy, ok? Jesus. You want to sleep in the living room while I, what, tiptoe around my own house? Fuck that. Just go to sleep. The mattress is like a damn marshmallow. You'll love it."

Morty didn't know how to argue with that, so he just stood chewing his lip until Rick finished making the bed and stood back to admire it. Morty waited expectantly for Rick to leave. Rick waited for Morty to climb into bed. Standoff. 

To his eternal shame, Morty cracked first. He yawned so hard that his temples began to pound. He was too tired for this shit. When he crawled under the covers he was pleased to find that Rick hadn't been lying. The mattress cradled him like a sweet dream, the goose down blanket was pleasantly heavy, and even the pillows were ergonomic. He was asleep before Rick left the room.

When he next opened his eyes it was dark. He was comfortable but overheating. Slowly he rose from the thick fog of sleep, and understanding took the place of drowsiness. Rick was in the bed with him, _holding_ him tightly around the waist. His chest rose and fell in a lullaby rhythm against Morty's back; he was _definitely_ asleep. 

Morty tried to shuffle away, but at the least movement Rick tightened his grip. He buried his face against Morty's neck and muttered something Morty couldn't make out. He had two choices, and neither of them were particularly appealing. He could kick up a fuss and make them both awkward, or he could pretend none of this was happening and try to go back to sleep. 

Yeah. That second one sounded good.

He tried not to think of how nice it felt to be held by strong arms, or of the comfort that the soft, rhythmic heartbeat at his back gave him. He _absolutely_ was not coming down with an attraction to a Rick. The very idea was disgusting. He was fine.

Everything was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by Left_Handed_Rick! Go check out their fic page, they're so incredibly talented!


	2. Taste of Recycled Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish dialogue translation in endnotes! From now on, if you run into more than a word or two of common Spanish, the translation will be in the endnotes.

Morty smelled like Rick’s shampoo.

Rick had been lying awake in the light of day for 20 minutes, and that was the only thought he'd managed to have. Morty smelled like his shampoo, which he knew because he'd woken up snuggled against the boy with his face buried in his soft curls. It was setting off klaxons in a possessive part of his hindbrain that needed to just  _ shut the fuck up already _ . He hadn't slept next to someone since The Breakup. If he had realized he'd become an indiscriminate cuddler he would have crashed on the couch. At least Morty hadn't woken up yet. Blah blah blah small favors.

Moving carefully, he slipped away. Morty stirred and made a tiny grumble but stayed asleep. Rick went to take a leak and then downstairs for his normal breakfast of champions: three shots of tequila and a fat line of coke. It was the perfect recipe for  _ not thinking about it. _ His headache retreated, and he chased it the rest of the way out of town by drinking enough water to quell the hunger pangs that rose in the pit of him. He poured a bowl of Simple Rick's Buncha Breakfast Bites for Morty, sniffed the milk and deemed it passable, and went back upstairs.

"Yo kid." Nothing. "Kid." Nothing. "Morty!"

"Wha--" Morty peered out at the world through slit eyes. His hair was squashed on one side of his head but fluffy on the other, and there was drool on his chin. "What time--"

"Nine in the morning. You slept for like twenty hours, which, good for you. Dunno if I'd call it 'beauty sleep,' though. You look like you live under a bridge."

Morty frowned, completing the crabby-hobo look. "Shut up."

"Nice comeback. Real snappy." Rick pulled back the blanket. Morty whined and covered his eyes with his hands. "Come on and eat breakfast."

"You made me breakfast?" Morty climbed out of bed while Rick put a shirt on. 

"If pouring cereal in a bowl counts, then yes."

"It definitely doesn't count," Morty groused, but he followed Rick downstairs easily enough. He gave the milk a sniff before pouring it on his Breakfast Bites.

"Kind of an insulting thing to do in front of your host but go off, I guess." 

Morty eyed him as he crunched on a spoonful of empty calories. "You're a slob," he said. "No w-way I was gonna just drink that stuff without checking."

"'Cause I would really put bad milk on my cereal and then pass it off on you?"

"If you thought it was funny, yeah."

"You really gotta get it through your head that Ricks aren't all the same person." He didn't like the idea; he was haunted every day by the ghost of Ricksmas future in every pair of deadened blue eyes he saw on the street. "Maybe I'm just a nice guy--you ever think of that?

"Sure, whatever." Morty ate quietly for a few moments, reading the back of the cereal box. "You know, this Simple Rick's stuff is really u-u-unethical. The Morty Mart brand is half the price and it tastes the same."

"It does  _ not _ taste the same. Ethical, schmethical. Good luck finding ethical business practices anywhere on the Citadel."

Morty smirked. "But I thought Ricks weren't all--"

"Oh, can it. This isn't the big 'gotcha' you were hoping for. Capitalism's a bitch no matter where you're from or who you are. The only way to win is not to play, and most places it's the only game in town. Might as well buy the cereal with the sweet, sweet taste of oxytocin."

Morty shook his head in disgust. Rick's stomach was turning over and over inside of him. He didn't have to watch people eat very often. He couldn't take it. Feeling like a little bitch for it, he fled the room. Pathetic. Why couldn't he just eat? Just eat! Everyone else could do it! Even other Ricks started their days with a mountain of pancakes. He was unique in his neurosis. He was alone. 

Before he even knew what he was doing he had a bowl half packed with a nice, relaxing indica, his fingertips sticky with plant oils. Morty poked his head into the living room. He looked nervous. 

"What should I do with my bowl?"

“Leave it. I don’t fucking care. Just come in here.”

Morty looked around as if someone was going to give him a contrary order, but in the end he came meekly into the living room and sat on the opposite end of the couch from Rick. He kept his knees together and his arms around himself, making himself as small as possible. He didn’t seem to want to come near Rick at all. It was making Rick nervous. He really needed to smoke up. He must have been on edge from the coke or something.

“We have to clean out your apartment today,” Rick said. His clever fingers kept picking the weed apart. “We’re leaving tomorrow and--”

“I never even said I was going with you,” Morty interrupted. He was chewing on his lip and looking away from Rick.

Rick cast his mind back. The kid was right. He had never  _ actually _ said that he was going to take Rick up on his offer. He had meant to talk to him about it more after his nap, but when Morty never reemerged Rick had just gotten more and more fucked up as the evening wore on in an attempt to steel himself for the rest of their negotiation. By the time he decided to give up and go to bed he had gone over his talking points so many times that he’d drunkenly forgotten it had all been in his head, it seemed. He cleared his throat.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Well  _ are you going with me _ ? Moron.” Rick schooled his features into deliberate nonchalance. It wasn’t like he  _ cared _ , right?

Yeah, he’d never been good at taking rejection.

“What do I h-h-have to do?” Morty wore an intense expression, as if he were saying something difficult and important.

“Uh, Morty. I already said. You carry my shit. Do you not know what a roadie is?”

“No!”

“Well--”

“Not that! Rick! Shut up!” Morty pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I mean  _ what do I have to do _ ? You know?  _ Quid pro qu-quo _ or whatever.”

Rick snorted. “Big words,” he snickered. “Jesus, Morty, do I look like Harvey Weinstein? You don’t have to suck my dick to get a job, ok? You need to relax.” Morty didn’t relax. He frowned and shifted in his seat. Rick finished packing the bowl. “Look. Just smoke a little weed with me and I promise, you’ll feel better.”

“I-I-I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea. What if it makes me paranoid or something?”

“This strain is really chill, Morty. Will you just calm down? Next you’re gonna ask me if it’s a ‘gateway drug’ like this is some kind of DARE PSA.” He rolled his eyes.

“Rick, I saw you snort drugs at noon on a weekday. You  _ offered me adderall _ . I th-think maybe you’re not the best example of how weed  _ isn’t _ a gateway drug.”

“You don’t have to be a bitch. Fine, more for me.” Rick hit the bowl. He could feel Morty’s eyes on him, but he stubbornly didn’t look.

“Wait. I-I wanna try.”

Rick turned towards Morty. “We’re gonna shotgun it.”

“Shotgun?” Morty squeaked. “Why do we have to do  _ that _ ?”

“Because I can just tell you’re gonna cough into the bowl and waste my expensive weed.” No other reason. Nope. It had nothing to do with Morty’s tiny, soft hands and the way he had felt in Rick’s arms that morning--solid, warm, and pliant. Rick wasn’t used to not taking what he wanted, but he was trying to exercise restraint for once. It helped that Morty had made it abundantly clear that he would never be interested in  _ a Rick _ that way. “Your lungs are as pink as a baby’s.”

“Aren’t they  _ supposed _ to be?” Morty shook his head in disgust.

“If you wanna--are you gonna be a pussy all your life, or are you gonna let me get you high?”

“I’m not a  _ pussy _ . Fine. We’ll shotgun it.” There was a brief pause. “How does that work?”

“I’ll take a hit. Then I’ll lean forward and breathe smoke out. All you have to do is fucking pay attention and breathe it in. So simple even a Morty can do it.”

“‘We’re not all the same person,’” Morty said, mimicking Rick’s tone from earlier. “That goes for Mortys, too, you know.”

Rick shrugged. “Whatever. Now pay attention.”

Rick took two more quick hits to build up his own buzz, then he breathed in a huge one and held it in his mouth and throat. He dropped the lighter and took Morty by the jaw, adjusting his head to a better angle.

He had meant to stop an inch from Morty’s lips. He really had. But he was feeling his morning intake, and he sealed his mouth over Morty’s, thin lips pressed into plush. He released his breath and smoke flooded into the boy’s mouth. Morty spluttered when he breathed it in and pulled back quickly from Rick. His cheeks were rosy, his eyes round but softly unfocused. He stared at Rick for the space of a few heavy breaths before devolving into a coughing fit. Rick felt a certain heat in his thighs. He tried not to think about it. 

“Told you. You’re a cougher.” said Rick.

“No! You  _ didn’t _ tell me!” Morty said. “You  _ kissed me _ !”

“I shotgunned you,” Rick argued. He didn’t sound very convincing to himself.

“Ugh. My mouth tastes like tequila now.” Morty stuck out his tongue in disgust. His cheeks were flushed, and he was refusing to meet Rick’s eye.

“Stop complaining. I’m trying to get you high over here out of the goodness of my heart.”

“J-Just give me the pipe...thingie… I won’t cough in it, I p-promise.”

“I’m calling bullshit on that. Look, this time I won’t put my mouth on you if you’re gonna be a little bitch about.”

“Fine.”

“Fine. Just remember to breathe in. And  _ hold _ the smoke in.”

Rick hit the bowl twice. The third time, he held smoke in his mouth and put the bowl down in his lap. He pulled Morty close by the nape of his neck and adjusted the angle of his head. Morty’s hair was soft beneath his fingers, his skin warm and smooth. He yielded easily to Rick’s touch. Thick smoke billowed out of Rick’s mouth when their lips were close together. Morty’s breath hitched. For a moment Rick thought this was going to be a bust, but Morty seemed to gather his thoughts and he sucked in as much of the smoke as he could.

“Hold it,” Rick said softly, not pulling away. He laid his other hand on Morty’s chest. “Hold it.”

Morty struggled to hold in his breath, but after a few moments he coughed in Rick’s face. Rick just laughed and sat back so he could take another hit, the spell broken for the moment.. Time was starting to dilate, and the colors and shadows of his world sharpened. He grinned lazily at Morty. He was starting to feel really, deeply fond of the kid, which made him more determined than ever to get him stoned. Poor thing deserved it. 

“How many more of those do I have to do before I-I-I’m high?” Morty whined. Rick laughed again.

Rick took a moment to consider. He’d been partying hard, himself, for more than a decade, so he’d lost all sense of proportion. How much did a newbie need to smoke? The strain was gentle, yes, but he didn’t want Morty getting couchlock.

“We’ll do two more. Two more, you hold them in, you’ll be on easy street, baby.”

“Two more,” Morty agreed.

Rick felt like he was moving through honey in the most delectable way as he keyed up the next shotgun for Morty. This time the boy met him halfway and they breathed each other’s air much more willingly. Morty held it in, and by the time he let his breath go Rick was already leaning in. He cradled the back of Morty’s head again to keep him from pulling back in surprise. Morty moved towards him subtly, drawn in by some quiet gravity between them. Their lips brushed as they exchanged smoke. Rick looked up and he was suddenly staring straight into Morty’s eyes. He could see, now, that the boy’s golden amber irises were flecked with jade and ringed with a stormy slate blue. They were beautiful. They held him ensorceled.

“Feeling anything?” Rick asked. He had cottonmouth.

Morty leaned back, and Rick was suddenly tumbling into an emotional abyss, his rope cut. What had he been  _ doing _ ? Morty didn’t want him; he had made that much crystal clear. Rick wasn’t interested in taking advantage of anyone. If he wanted sex he could go anywhere and get it from someone who was enthusiastically interested. Rick could pull tail anywhere in the galaxy. So why was he here barely holding himself back from making out with a  _ Morty _ ? It made no sense. He leaned back and let his head loll back, staring up at the familiar ceiling.

“I think maybe I’m high,” said Morty.

“If you’re not  _ absolutely _ sure in five minutes we’ll give you a little more.”

Silence grew between them like a swelling mushroom, soft and fragrant. They were both content not to touch it for a while. But eventually it burst and the spores of it went spinning around the room and drifting through Rick’s mind. 

“So do you want to?” he asked.

“Want to want?”

“Be my roadie.”

The spores of silence whirled around the room, colliding and rebounding.

“There’s  _ really _ no hidden quid pro quo?”

“It’d be pretty stupid of me to tell you if there was.” Rick spent a moment toying with the thought. Morty was so dumb. “But there’s not. Fuck, Morty, just accept the offer already. Come with me, or sleep on the streets in Mortytown. Those are your choices, kid.”

“Stop calling me ‘kid,’” Morty said. His voice was languid, as relaxed as a kitten in a sunbeam. “Ok. I’ll come with you.”

“Good.” Why did he feel so effervescent now? All he knew was that he was glad Morty would be with him. He didn’t give himself permission to think down that road to its logical conclusion. Instead, he leaned forward and began packing weed into his vaporizer. “We have to go get your stuff today, then. You’re never coming back to the Citadel after tomorrow.”

He felt Morty shift beside him. “I don’t really have any stuff.”

“Your clothes, at least. And your money.” Rick 

“Right.” A pause. “I only have 4 credits in my bank account. But we should get my clothes.”

“Let’s do it now.” Morty groaned, and Rick nudged him on the shoulder. “C’mon. Wait ‘til you see the fucking beautiful weather through the high. Going outside is gonna blow your stoned little mind.”

“I should change,” Morty said regretfully. “Where’d you put my clothes?”

“Don’t bother. Put on something clean when we get to your place.”

Rick pushed himself up and grabbed his keys from the coffee table. His whole body was lax, and his mind had slowed to a manageable, easy lope. He didn’t give Morty a chance to argue, just headed for the door. Behind him, Morty sloughed out of his seat and jogged after him.

“You have some suitcases, right?” Rick asked as they began their stroll down the quiet residential street toward busier roads where they could hail a taxi. 

Morty was looking around himself with jerky movements of his head. He put a spring in his step, adhering close to Rick’s side. “Aw, geez, Rick.” He lowered his voice so that Rick could barely even hear him. “Everyone’s gonna know I’m high.”

Rick burst out laughing. “Oh my god. Morty. Half the Ricks on this fucking space station are high right now. No one cares.”

“That’s  _ Ricks _ ,” Morty insisted. “And it’s--it’s still illegal! I don’t want to be in  _ m-more _ trouble, Rick! Oh god, what if the cops are w-w-w-waiting at my apartment? We can’t go there, Rick. We--”

“Morty. Shut the fuck up.” Rick put his arm over Morty’s shoulders and pulled him closer to his side as they walked. “Just calm down, ok? Just focus on me. Do you have a suitcase?”

“No,” Morty said. He took a deep breath when Rick squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. “It d-doesn’t really matter. I only have, like, two shirts and two pairs of jeans. I-It’ll all fit in a brown bag.”

Rick stopped short and turned Morty to face him. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yeah, well…” Morty was clearly embarrassed. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his eyes. Eventually he settled on gazing at Rick’s knees. “Rick-- _ my _ Rick left me here without anything. The Morty School g-gave me uniforms and stuff, but I grew o-out of them and I didn’t really have money t-t-to replace them.”

Rick took a deep breath. A steadying breath. He had known this Morty was a charity case, but damn. This was Little Orphan Annie territory. He had to do something. He had to do for this Morty what no one had ever done for  _ him _ .

“New plan,” he said, hoping he looked sunny. “We’re going shopping.”

“Shopping?” Morty looked panicked, but Rick just kept dragging him down the street. “Oh, n-no no no, Rick. We can’t--I don’t have any  _ money _ !

“Don’t worry about it. I got you.”

Morty worried about it. Morty worried about it for the rest of their walk, and the taxi ride after that, and he made sure that Rick knew about it. Rick had just about had enough by the time they got to Rick’s Fifth Avenue. Morty planted his heels, staring up at the shiny building.

“This is w-way too nice,” he fretted, wringing his hands. 

Rick grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the alley beside the building. He took out his vape and thrust it into Morty’s hands. “Time to renew your high,” he demanded. “Just put it up to your lips and inhale.”

Morty turned the device over in his hand. “Why didn’t we just use this before, Rick?”

“Because I didn’t think about it,” Rick said, exasperated. “Anyway you should learn to really smoke bef--listen, just hit the thing, will you? Hit it twice,” he instructed. “Maybe it will calm you down. You’ve been crawling up my ass for like half an hour.”

Morty was probably going to wind up stoned off his ass, but Rick didn’t care anymore. He just wanted him to shut the fuck up and accept his gracious help. Morty glared at him, but he sucked on the vape, taking two huge tokes. Rick snatched it away and hit it thrice. They stayed in the alley, leaning against opposite buildings and gazing at each other across the divide.

  
  


***

  
  


Morty was high. That was undeniable. He felt like he was floating as he passed from the warm sunny day into the clean, sleek, air conditioned store. He was immediately greeted by a pair of mannequins--a Rick and a Morty--dressed in fussy, expensive versions of their stereotypical outfits. The Rick mannequin had an unmistakable bulge in his tight pants. Morty shook his head and giggled.

Ricks, man. The vanity of it all.

“Morty. Hurry up.”

Morty wondered if he looked as blissed out as Rick did. The older man’s eyes were half-lidded, and his smile was infuriatingly suave. And Morty couldn’t help but notice that Rick was packing a similar bulge to the one on the mannequin. Maybe it wasn’t all braggadocio, after all. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be looking.

It was hard not to think about, though, after Rick had fucking  _ kissed him _ earlier. ‘It was just a shotgun, Morty’--yeah fucking right. He watched Rick browse through a rack of yellow cashmere teeshirts, chewing the past day over in his mind. There was something missing, an empty slot where Rick’s  _ motives _ should have been. He followed the older man around, blindly accepting articles of clothing as they were thrown into his arms. Every Rick he’d ever met had wanted something from him. Adoration, mostly. This one was behaving differently, maybe, but the bill was going to come due someday. Morty just hoped that he could afford to pay it when it did. 

Lost in thought, he almost missed it when a yellow dress with little pink hearts dotting it was thrown on top of the growing pile of clothing in his arms. He looked up at Rick who was smirking at him, his brow arched and his eyes glittering.

“Thought that might get your attention,” Rick said. “I asked you like fifty times what kind of underwear you want me to buy. I know you’re stoned but pay attention, Jesus.” He gestured broadly at a display of various styles.

Morty swallowed thickly. “Uh...b-b-boxer briefs,” he said. It wasn’t what he usually wore, but it seemed like the most grown-up answer. He watched with mounting humiliation as Rick grabbed about a week’s worth and added them to the pile of clothes he was holding, himself.

“We’re getting the dress,” Rick said. He didn’t wait for Morty to respond before moving on to a new rack. 

“Rick!” Morty said. He had to add a little hop every few steps to keep up with Rick’s long-legged strides. “Rick! I don’t want a dress!”

“Who’s paying?” Rick shot over his shoulder.

“That’s not f-fair!”

“Life’s not fair, Morty.” He stopped in front of a wall of shoes. “Alright. Pick some. And no choosing the cheapest ones just ‘cause they’re cheapest. Pick ones you actually like.”

“Geez, Rick, my shoes are fine.”

“Morty, I can see your sock through that hole by your toe. Pick out some shoes. It’s not hard.”

Morty’s eyes flitted between the different choices. Most of them looked more or less the same to him. He quickly found the cheapest pair and crossed them off the list. There was no way he was going to be able to argue his way into going for them. He could feel Rick’s scrutiny on him like a gamma wave. He was just about to just grab the second least expensive when a pair caught his eye. Shyly, he reached up and grabbed the display shoe off of the shelf. They were black high tops with accent stripes of green fabric, dotted with an elegant Japanese motif of plum blossoms. They looked cool and masculine, but also delicate and pretty. He looked back up at the shelf and blanched at the price, but it was too late--Rick had already grabbed a pair in standard Morty size. There was nothing he could do. Guilt churned away in his stomach as they headed toward the checkout counter. Maybe Rick was going to pull some bullshit later, but so far he had given a lot to Morty. It was overwhelming. When was the last time anyone had bought something for him? Not since he lived with his parents, back on Earth in 616-B. Not since before his grandfather left him here to rot. It was making him uncomfortable in a way that wasn’t as unpleasant as it should have been. He resolved not to think about it.

Rick had him put his pile of clothes on the counter and shooed him away, telling him to go wait outside. Morty suspected that he didn’t want him to see the total. That was more than fine with him.

Morty leaned against the front of the building, looking down in misery at the hole in his shoe. God, he really had become pathetic, hadn’t he? His dark thoughts spiraled above him like vultures, and he just stood and waited for them to strike, one by one. He didn’t notice the Rick who had come up in front of him until rough fingertips tilted his head up with a gentle touch under his chin.

“What’s got you down, sweet stuff?” the Rick asked. He reeked of vodka, even worse than most Ricks did at this time of day, and he was wearing a pilling grey hoodie instead of a lab coat. “Where’s your Rick, huh?”

God, Morty was so sick of being asked that question! “N-None of your business,” he said, a frown weighing his features down.

“That’s not a very--is that how you talk to someone who’s trying to help you?”

“You’re not trying to help me; you’re b-being a dick.”

The Rick grabbed his arm in an iron grip. “Hey! No Morty fuckin’ talks to me like that, kid. We’re gonna go for a little walk and--”

A loud rustling sound drew the Rick’s attention, and Morty looked up just in time to see G-013 crowd into the Rick’s personal space and grab him by the front of his shirt. The two of them took a few steps away from Morty. Morty prodded his arm where he had been held a moment before. It was definitely going to bruise.

“¿Por qué chingados estás tocando a mi Morty? 1 ” said G-013, pushing the other Rick away from himself.

“Chill the fuck out. No harm, no foul, right?”

“‘No harm, no foul?’ Fuck you, you fucking ratty-ass geriatric motherfucker. Keep your nasty arthritic hands to yourself.”

“What’s your problem? He’s not even  _ your Morty _ , you toddler.”

“My  _ problem _ is that no one ever taught you any manners. ¿Tu papá no te golpeó lo suficientemente fuerte? 2 Huh?”

“Little shit,” the other Rick snarled.

Rick G-013 easily turned aside a wide swing. He was red in the face. Furious. He drew back his arm and gave the other Rick one, two right hooks straight to the face. The older Rick’s nose gave way and a flood of thick, dark blood poured down his chin. He howled in pain and clutched at his ruined face.

“Fuck you,” he said, voice muffled behind his hands.

“Fuera de aquí, cabrón! 3 ” Rick swore at the other’s retreating form. “Morty. Bags.”

It took a few moments for Morty’s mind to catch up with his eyes. “Wh--”

Rick was looking down at his right hand. A bruise was unfolding like a blooming flower across his bloodied knuckles. Absently, he gestured with his head over to his right, indicating a mountain of shopping bags. “The bags, idiot. Will you just pick them up and let’s go? I don’t want to be here when the cops get here.”

Morty felt like he was coming up from deep underwater. Understanding dawned on him slowly. “Uh...oh! Right!” Once he breached the surface, he scrambled over himself to collect the shopping bags. “J-Jesus, Rick. You--”

“If you’re about to tell me I didn’t have to do that, you can just can it, Morty. I do what I want to do when I want to do it, ok? Guys like that really piss me off.”

Rick started down the sidewalk, and Morty scrambled to follow. Rick let him catch up and took half of the shopping bags, complaining that Morty was moving too slowly. His brain was still baked, and it was whirling like a top. He couldn’t latch onto anything. The ground felt unsure beneath his feet. The day seemed to have turned hot all around him; he was sweating as he hurried after Rick. The taxi they climbed into was crisp and cool inside, but it didn’t seem to help. With wide eyes he stared at the back of the taxi-driver Rick’s head, feeling every bump and jostle of their ride.

“Was that Spanish?” he blurted out, compelled to break the moody silence between them. “You speak Spanish?”

“Morty. We all speak Spanish. We’re from Mexico.” Rick finally turned away from the window and looked at Morty.

“Wait, all of you? All Ricks?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“No…” Morty was embarrassed. His mother had never told him. His  _ Rick _ had never told him. He’d never heard another Rick speaking Spanish before, either. “I mean....I-I-I-I-I know your last name is  _ Sanchez _ , but--”

“Sound like a gringo name to you?”

“What’s a gringo?”

Rick shook his head and chuckled. Something unknotted in Morty’s gut. Rick was suddenly looking like himself again, jovial and suave. “Fuck, Morty. You’re a disgrace to the Sanchez name. I’m definitely teaching you Spanish on tour.”

“Come on, Rick, I-I-I’m not any good at school,” Morty complained.

“This isn’t school. This is your heritage.”

"Whatever," Morty said. The Citadel rolled by outside his window. "Prepare to be disappointed."

"We'll go slow."

Rick's tone was casual, but Morty's mind dropped straight into the gutter and imbued his words with thrilling meaning. He bit back a groan of defeat, sat on his hands to keep from covering his suddenly-warm face. No, there was absolutely no way he was going to let himself get a crush on a  _ Rick _ . Not even a young, sexy Rick who got in fights to defend his honor. Nope. Not happening.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Why are you fucking touching my Morty?
> 
> 2 Did your dad not hit you hard enough?
> 
> 3 Get out of here, asshole!


	3. They're Just Photos, After All

Rick sat in the bathtub, letting lukewarm water beat down on him. His head lolled from side to side; his neck felt loose. He pushed his hair back from his face. It immediately washed back into his eyes. His beer bottle was mostly full of water, but he put it to his lips anyway. The dregs were warm and bitter. He drained it and let it fall to the ground with the others at his feet. He could barely see straight. The room was spinning unpleasantly.

In the morning he would see Birdperson for the first time since they broke up. Was it really only four months ago? Time was elastic on the Citadel. Weeks passed like days, months like years. The upcoming tour had been a reason to keep track of the date, to watch the calendar fill up with red x's as he bid goodbye to yesterdays and welcomed tomorrows. He had thought he was ready.

He wasn't ready.

As the day ticked by he had grown anxious, then fearful, then drunk. He ate under Morty's watchful eye, but later he threw up the stale pizza along with half a bottle of expensive scotch. He sent Morty to bed and haunted his rooms like a ghost, and in turn was haunted by spectres of the past. He wanted forgiveness. He wanted salvation. He deserved neither. How many beds had he warmed while Birdperson lay awake, wondering if Rick was going to come home this time? How many times had he groveled his way back into Birdperson’s arms with sweet words and sweet kisses? It had been Rick who couldn't take any more after Birdperson's single, tearfully confessed infidelity. It had wounded him to the marrow, and made him realize how badly he'd hurt his lover so many times. Birdperson was better off without him. If it weren't for Squanchy, Rick would have broken up the band, but he didn't want to rob his friend of his dreams. He had hurt enough people. He resolved that he would be there for The Flesh Curtains for as long as Birdperson was willing to stand him. Maybe they were both just in it for Squanchy. 

Rick had run out of tears and the water was turning cold, so he dragged himself over the edge of the tub and onto the floor like a beached whale. He groaned and rolled onto his back, his feet still dangling into tub, frigid water tickling his toes. The ceiling was spinning above him like a tilt-a-whirl, so he closed his eyes. 

The door squeaked on its hinges and someone said his name. The rain stopped falling on his toes. Strong hands wrapped around his biceps, and he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, though it was a struggle to untangle his legs and find purchase on the slippery floor. A fluffy towel was draped over him like a cloak, and a warm body slotted in against his side.

"Birdperson?"

"What's a Birdperson?"

"Morty." He cracked his eyes open and peered down at Morty's face. "You're a good kid, Morty." 

"Yeah, I know. You're really drunk, Rick. And naked."

"I don't mind," he slurred as they made their arduous way toward the bedroom. 

"You ever think that m-m-maybe I do?" There was something complicated in Morty's tone that he couldn't parse right now.

"Nope."

Morty snorted. He helped Rick lean against his dresser and rifled the drawers. He dropped to a squat in front of Rick and held open a pair of sweatpants. "Step in," he ordered. 

Rick didn't argue. His hands never left the dresser as he stepped into the garment with exaggerated care. Morty pulled them up and took Rick by the waist, helping him the few steps to his bed. Rick allowed himself to be arranged on his side and covered with his puffy blanket. Morty turned away from him, but he caught the boy's shirt in a clumsy grip to stop him from leaving. 

"Don't go," Rick said. His voice was pale and raspy. "Please don't go."

Morty tensed. His head tilted back. For a moment Rick was sure he was going to brush him off, but instead he sighed heavily and turned around.

"Move over," Morty said brusquely. 

It was a bit of a struggle, but Rick complied. Morty sat with his back against the headboard and his legs under the covers. Rick laid his head on Morty's lap. The boy's warm fingers glanced over his wet locks, the touch as light as a whispered breath.

"Fuck it," said Morty. "You're not gonna remember this, anyway." 

"Yes I will," Rick bristled. "I'm just a little bit drunk. 'S no big deal."

"Rick, I know what a blackout looks like." Morty stroked his hair. "If you puke on me I'm gonna be so pissed."

"Nothin' to puke. Pizza's all gone." He paused to consider, and then arranged his gangly arms around Morty's waist. "Maybe beer, though. But liquor then beer...I'm in the clear."

"Just because something rhymes doesn't make it good advice, Rick. Maybe you should eat some toast." 

"No food. Fuck food."

"I'll put cinnamon and sugar on it," Morty said, trying to entice him.

"Bread makes you fat. Sugar makes you fat." He wavered, indecisive. His sweet tooth would be his undoing. "One slice. If you're gonna be the fucking food police."

"Two, and I'll stay until you f-fall asleep."

Rick wrestled internally. He didn't want to bargain away control, but he also didn't want to make a big deal and light a beacon over his problems with food. "Deal," he said grudgingly.

By the time Morty came back Rick had almost nodded off. He felt a small hand shake him by the shoulder. 

"Come on, sit up," Morty soothed. Rick whined, but managed to push himself up against the headboard. Morty put a plate with four pieces of toast on his lap, sugar crystals twinkling in Rick’s blurry vision. A large glass of water was set on the nightstand.

“You said two,” Rick complained. He picked up a piece of toast and looked at it dubiously.

“I bet you’ll want more once you start eating it,” Morty said. “Come on. Just give it a try. You want me to sit with you, right?”

“It’s extortion.”

Rick took a bite out of the first piece of toast. It was better than sex. Buttery and sweet, it filled his mouth with sunshine and rainbows. He wolfed it down without even thinking. It had been two days since he last ate anything that he didn’t almost immediately throw up. Even for him, 48 hours without a single bite to eat was pushing it. He crammed the delicious slices into his mouth, one after the other. It was much easier since he was too drunk to tally up calories, anyway. He was genuinely sorry to finish, and he wished he had more. Morty took the plate from him and pressed the cup into his hands. 

“Water. Go slow or you’ll puke again.”

“I know. This isn’t my first rodeo,” Rick snipped. And yet, despite his words he barely stopped himself from guzzling the sweet, cool water. 

Morty took it from him when he had finished about half. “Leave some for the morning.”

“Yes, mom.”

“I’d tell you not to be an asshole to people who are just trying to help you, but there’s no way you’d l-listen.”

“Prob’ly not.”

They scooted back into their previous positions, Rick’s head in Morty’s lap, and Morty stroking Rick’s hair. Rick turned Morty’s admonishment over and over in his mind. He couldn’t grab onto any solid thoughts. They just tumbled through his head and poured out of his mouth.

“I’m a bad man, Morty. I’m an asshole.”

“You’re a Rick,” Morty said. His fingers hesitated. A droplet of water fell from a lock of Rick’s hair and onto Rick’s ear. He shivered. “It’s the same thing.”

“No,” Rick groaned. Morty didn’t understand. His lip began to tremble. “I’m so bad. I’m so bad, Morty.”

“Shh, Rick. It’s ok. Just ca-calm down, ok? You need to go to sleep.”

Sleep? Rick sniffled. A hot tear rolled down the bridge of his nose. “I need you to know, Morty. I need you to know. I do bad things every--everywhere I go. I’m rotten inside. I’m worthless. You should stay away from me or else I’ll do bad things to you, too.”

“I understand,” Morty said. “Close your eyes, Rick. C’mon. Let’s go to sleep.”

“I want Arrorró mi Niño,” he said, snuggling into Morty a little more comfortably.

“What’s that? I’ll get it for you.”

“Mama always used to sing it to me.”

“I don’t know it, Rick. How does it go?”

Rick took a shuddering breath. “Arrorró mi niño, arrorró mi sol, arrorró pedazo de mi corazón,” he sang. His voice warbled slightly, but he sang with a warm and delicate tenor that belied innate talent. “Este niño lindo ya...ya quiere dormir; háganle la cuna de rosa..y...jazmín…”1

The singing calmed him, and Morty’s warm body lulled him, and before he knew it he was trailing off into a dreamless sleep.

Ten and a half hours later he woke up in bed alone. His head was pounding, his stomach rebelling against him from the moment he first opened his eyes. God, how much had he drunk last night? At least Morty hadn’t had to see it--clearly he had kicked him out of his room whenever he had finally come to bed. Rick grabbed his phone from the night stand. It took a while for him to make out the time.

11:47 AM.

“No. No, no, no,” he said. Fuck, his own voice was giving him a headache. 

He was an hour late to meet up and load the tour bus. Ship. Whatever. Groaning, he stumbled out of bed. The stairs almost got the best of him, but he made it to the bottom and dropped a bundle of new clothes on top of Morty, who was--as he had predicted--sleeping on the couch.

“Wake up,” he said. “We’re late.”

“Huh?”

“We’re late. Fucking get dressed.”

He barely felt like a living creature. The kitchen seemed far away, but he managed to drag himself in there and pop the last two tabs of Simple Rick’s Hangover Fizz into a glass of water. It wasn’t quite a miracle cure, but as the dissolved medicine hit his stomach he breathed a sigh of relief. He hoped whoever invented this shit was rich enough to retire to a private moon or something. His guts untwisted, and his headache was reduced to a tolerable throbbing. Fuck, he had overdone it so hard that he didn’t even want a nip of the hair of the dog--and a good thing, too, because a cursory examination of the kitchen showed that he might have consumed every last drop of liquor in the house last night. He had been letting his supplies slowly dwindle in anticipation of the coming tour, but that was still an impressive feat. No wonder he didn’t remember anything after 9 PM.

Morty, dressed in his new clothes and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, wandered into the kitchen. “How late are we?”

“Really late, ok? Eat some poptarts or something and then come on.” Rick pushed past him on his way back out of the kitchen.

“What about you?”

“Not hungry,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m going to pick up my portal gun. There’s an empty suitcase in the spare room. Put your new clothes in it and bring all the luggage and instruments downstairs. I’ll be right back.”

He had to argue with the Portal Gun Release Agent for twenty minutes to get his back after being more than an hour late for his appointment, but it was tucked safely in his bag by the time he let himself back into the house. Morty was sitting on the couch, tapping his fingers nervously on his knees. He shot to his feet as soon as Rick was inside, locking the door behind himself.

“I warmed up some poptarts for you,” Morty said. “They’re probably s-still at least a little--”

“I said I wasn’t hungry, Morty.” Rick felt guilty for getting snippy with him, but he couldn’t help it. His heart was already in his throat. He was about to see Birdperson. There was no way he could eat right now. "Why don't you eat them yourself? I bet we won't stop for food until we get to the hotel," he added, trying to smooth things over.

"I'll just save them for you, then," said Morty.

Rick wanted to scream.

"But Rick, what do you mean by 'won't stop for food?' I thought you got your Portal Gun back."

"I did. We're gonna portal to G-013 and get on the tour bus. Shuttle. Whatever."

"But…why?"

Rick sighed impatiently. "Because getting a tour bus was my idea in the first place. Because band camaraderie. Because stop asking stupid questions and grab our shit."

Rick shot a portal onto the wall. Here goes nothing.

Birdperson looked good. Rick wasn't prepared for that. He looked like he was sleeping at night. There was color on his skin. He was probably going on more of those hikes Rick had always hated being dragged on. He was talking with Squanchy, leaning against the wall of the shuttle bay, outlined in starlight from the hangar door that was covered only in a shimmer of forcefield. 

He looked good.

Rick fumbled a crushed pack of cigarettes from his leather messenger bag and with trembling hands put one in his mouth. He almost turned back right through the portal and called this all off, but then Squanchy saw him and he had no choice but to join his bandmates. He lit the crooked cigarette and took a shaky drag.

"Hey, Squanchy. Pers." 

"Rick, you ol' piece of shit!" Squanchy greeted him cheerfully. "I knew I could count on you to be even later than me!"

"Rick." Birdperson watched him with a level gaze. "I thought you quit," he said, indicating the cigarette.

"Didn't take. I'm not really the 'quitting drugs' type." 

"I don't--" Birdperson cut himself off as the portal sounded its warped hum behind Rick. "Who is that?" 

Rick looked over his shoulder and flicked ash on the ground. "That's my new Morty. He's gonna roadie for us."

Morty unburdened himself and went back through the portal for the rest of their things. Birdperson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"Rick, the margins in the tour budget are extremely tight. The staff bus left two hours ago. You can't just hire a roadie at the last second," said Birdperson.

"Pers, we're the biggest sound in the galaxy right now. Len will find the money." He lowered his voice. "Between us, he was really down on his luck when we met, ok? He didn't even have fucking clothes. Len will find the money. He always does. Fucking Squanchy went to rehab on the band's dime three times. How's that going, by the way, compa?" 

"You know me," Squanchy said with a shrug.

"Back on H?"

"Squanching right, I am!" 

"Regardless, I believe you owe me and Squanchy an apology, Rick. We were both here and ready long ago." 

Rick flicked his cigarette. He felt cornered, trapped on the inside of his own ribcage as his heart thudded. An apology? He blew smoke out through a rictus of a smile. Birdperson knew right where to needle him. 

Squanchy, apparently, also knew where his mental landmines lay. "Eh, it's alright. If we wanted Rick on time we should have squanching told him we were leaving two hours early."

"You know it," Rick said "What can I say? Can't keep up this charming-disaster look without my beauty sleep."

"I would like an apology," Birdperson repeated, his voice flat.

Morty, finished loading the luggage into the shuttle's compartment, came up behind Rick and stood shyly by his elbow. Rick stiffened. Birdperson was still looking at him expectantly. Rick couldn't meet his eyes.

"This is Morty," Rick said. He stomped out the butt of his cigarette and quickly fished out another. Everyone could see his hands shaking as he lit it, the traitorous flame wavering before his eyes. "Morty, this is Birdperson and Squanchy, the rest of The Flesh Curtains."

Morty subtly inched closer to Rick. "Hi," he said. Something inside of Rick shifted dizzily at the sight of his soft blush.

"Ensquanche." Squanchy gave a teasing little bow. "Hope you're ready to party it up! We go hard." 

"Oh. I'm not really a party kind of guy." Morty's eyes flicked up, pleading Rick to save him.

Rick looped his arm casually over Morty's shoulders and blew smoke away from him. He didn't quite take pity. "That's why we're gonna teach you how, baby! You--" There was a zing of pain that stopped him mid sentence. He had intended to tell Morty that he would get laid from one side of the galaxy to the other. He knew this sensation well: the bitter sting of jealousy. Rick filled his mouth with the grey taste of smoke, felt it flow into his lungs bringing with it a dose of chemical calm. "You're gonna be my apprentice. Stick with me; we'll get fucked up on every party drug the galaxy has on offer." 

"Rick, you should not be pushing drugs on people," said Birdperson.

Rick flashed his teeth. He squeezed Morty's shoulders. "If I don't push drugs on him, how will I ever get him to do drugs?" Everything is fine. Everything is fine. Everything is fine. 

"Geez," Morty said quietly. 

"Are we done talking?" The shuttle pilot, a blue alien with six tentacle arms, interrupted the conversation. "Let's move it on board."

Rick steered Morty toward the shuttle door. "It'll be fun," he assured him as they walked up the gangplank.

"Please do not smoke on the bus," said Birdperson.

"Stop me," Rick answered teasingly. Everything is fine.

The inside of the bus was, predictably, cramped. One end was taken up by a long, pockmarked table surrounded on three sides by bench seating in a dated shade of rusty orange. There was an empty central area, presumably for stretching one's legs. The floor had faded from black to ashen grey from overuse.The bathroom stood beside a curtain, behind which there were a few hard, narrow bunks. It was as inglorious as it could have been. It was perfect.

Rick dragged Morty into a seat at the table. Squanchy had already set up his box of goodies at the table. Rick flicked ash onto the ground and then began to sift through it. Squanchy grabbed a small toiletries bag and headed for the bathroom.

"Bro, you can shoot up out here," said Rick. "It's not like we don't know what you're doing." 

"Not in squanch of the Morty," the cat said before disappearing through the bathroom door.

"Is he really--like heroin? Is there even heroin i-i-i-in space?" asked Morty, his voice low. His eyes flicked nervously towards the bathroom.

"Morty, there's everything in space." Rick perched his cigarette in his lips as his spidery fingers sorted through pills, powders, and herbs. "Want some weed? Squanchy won't mind." Rick glanced over and caught Morty staring at him, a light blush dusting his cheeks. His heart skipped a beat.

"Morty, please do not feel pressured to take drugs," said Birdperson as he slid into a place across the way from them. He had a deck of worn playing cards in his hands. "Rick taught me a delightful human game called 'cribbage.' Are you familiar with it?"

Morty twisted a bit under Birdperson's warm, friendly attention. "It was my grandpa's--my Rick's favorite game," he said.

"I've got winner," Rick said, only half paying attention now. 

He opened a little packet, delighted to find that most of the Xanax he had gifted to Squanchy were still there. His friend didn't tend to take other downers along with his heroin, and so had left these alone. He broke off a few bars and crushed them with the bottom of a glass bottle from inside the kit. Stubbing out the butt of his cigarette on the table, he reached into his bag and brought out a crisp twenty-credit note. 

"Rick," Birdperson said. His voice was pleading. "You don't have to do this."

Rick hesitated. "I…"

"Just spend some time with us sober," his ex cajoled.

That sounded like his worst nightmare. "Sorry," he muttered, and he meant it. Pers wanted an apology? There it was. 

Birdperson sighed heavily as Rick bent over the table and did the line.

*** 

Morty beat Birdperson at cribbage, then Rick skunked Morty at the game. Apparently, even high out of his mind Rick was both obnoxiously lucky and devastatingly skilled at competitive games. Squanchy came out of the bathroom before the competition had progressed very far and talked socially with Morty despite his glassy eyed stare. Morty liked both of Rick's bandmates. They were very different from one another, but they were both clearly trying to put Morty at ease, which he appreciated. He found himself warming to them quickly. 

Before Rick was finished beating Morty at cards, Squanchy nodded off at the table with a cigarette in his mouth. Birdperson took it and put it out in the kit.

"Gonna kick your ass next, Pers," Rick slurred. 

"You'll be asleep in five minutes," Birdperson answered in the even tone that Morty was already associating with him.

Turned out Birdperson was nearly right. Rick let Morty talk him into going to the bunks for a nap rather than nod off at the table like Squanchy. He tried to stubbornly refuse, but in the end he staggered away to sleep it off.

Morty’s heart was in his guts. He didn't like seeing Rick this messed up. First last night and now this? Was Rick just always fucked out of his mind? Morty pulled out the poptarts he had made for Rick that morning and carefully wrapped in paper towels to be saved for later. Tears stung his eyes.

"Don't fall in love," Birdperson said. He was staring steadily at Morty with deep jade eyes.

"What?" Who had said anything about love? "N-No way. Not gonna happen. Don't worry."

Birdperson smiled sadly. "I used to love him. I know that look." He nodded at the poptarts. "When's the last time he ate?"

"Last night. I got him to eat some toast to settle his stomach. He was…drunk." Morty took a moment to bulk up his courage. "He has...a-a-a-a problem, doesn't he? An eating problem." 

Birdperson nodded once. "Rick is a deeply damaged man. I thought I could break through to him with enough love and patience. I was wrong. I fear he may be lost utterly."

"Wait. Were you two…?"

"Yes. To be honest, I thought of calling off this tour many times, but in the end that would not have been fair to Squanchy." He shrugged one shoulder. "Therapy has helped."

"Wow. I'm, um. I'm r-really sorry." Morty wasn't sure what to say. The pleasant atmosphere that had gathered earlier seemed to dissolve and leave him choking. 

"I am feeling at peace," Birdperson assured him. "Rick, on the other hand…" 

Morty understood now why Rick had gotten so drunk last night. Strange. He was expecting to feel disgusted, but instead he found a sense of deep sorrow in his heart. Rick, the Rick who had saved him and fucking clothed him, whose scent had rocked Morty to sleep for the past two nights, who had sung a sweet lullaby to him, was in great pain. Morty wasn't sure what else in Rick's life had made him this way, and he wasn't about to ask Birdperson; if Rick wanted him to know then he would tell him himself.

"I'm going to make him eat the damn poptarts," Morty growled, surprising himself.

He kept up his momentum, snatching up the poptarts and stomping after Rick. His courage flagged a bit once he passed the curtain, until Rick cracked his eyes open and smiled. That damn smile. He reached out his arms and Morty drifted to him with the inevitability of gravity. 

He sat on the edge of the bunk and let Rick settle his head in his lap. 

"I feel nice," Rick confided. 

"I can tell. We're gonna eat some poptarts now, ok?" 

Rick frowned. "No way."

"Yes, way." Morty broke off a corner of one of the treats. "Come on. Little bite."

"No."

"Rick, you can't just not eat anything."

"Watch me." Rick stared defiantly up at him. His vivid blue eyes were softly unfocused. "Pers put you up to this, didn't he?"

"No." Morty could already feel himself getting frustrated with Rick's toddler behavior. "He told me to forget your sorry ass. So prove him wrong and eat the fucking poptart." 

"He said that?" It was as if Rick had been slapped. His voice cracked, his cheeks paled. Morty regretted his words. 

"Come on, Rick. It's two poptarts. You can eat two poptarts."

"No."

Morty groaned. "What can I do to get you to eat this?" 

Rick seemed to give it some real consideration. "I'll eat one poptart if you stay with me 'til I fall asleep."

Morty smiled sadly down at Rick. It was just like last night. Rick was so lonely. It made Morty’s heart hurt. 

"Both," he bargained. 

"One and a half."

"Deal." 

Rick opened his mouth expectantly. Morty rolled his eyes. "Yes, your highness," he said, trying not to smile. What a big baby.

Morty broke the poptarts into pieces to slowly feed to Rick. Bite by bite Rick chewed his way through the first pastry. He seemed to have some trouble swallowing, which worried Morty a bit. Wasn’t difficulty swallowing some kind of bad medical sign? He ran up against a pang of homesickness when he found himself thinking that his mom would have known.

Sure. If she had time for him at all.

Morty made a point to keep his face blank as he fed the entire second poptart to Rick piece by piece. He’d be damned if he let Rick just starve. He was going to fix this. As he had hoped, Rick didn’t even notice until the whole thing was gone.

“What the fuck?” Despite the fact that he was clearly angry, Rick’s voice and expression remained lax. He lifted his head for a moment and then let it fall back onto Morty’s lap as if it weighed too much for his neck. “You did me dirty.”

“Maybe it’s time someone did. Maybe that’s exactly what you need.”

Rick peered up at him thoughtfully. “You sound like my fucking tío Carlos. Right before he gave me a black eye for my seventh birthday.”

“That’s not--that’s not what I mean,” Morty said. 

He was aghast at how casually Rick spoke about violence in his childhood. Morty had spent his own childhood invisible, wavering between hiding from his fighting parents and vying for their attention. It wasn’t a good situation. But no one at home had ever hit him--not even his original Rick. Were secrets tumbling out of Rick’s inebriated mouth, or was a black eye the tip of the iceberg for Rick such that he could so casually drop it into the conversation? Morty was uncomfortably leaning towards the latter.

“Fuck you, Morty. We had a deal.”

“Rick…” Morty shook his head. To him, it was half a poptart. To Rick, it meant something else entirely--that much was clear. “I’m sorry, ok? J-Just chill out. I won’t do it again.”

Rick snorted. “Bet your ass you won’t. Fuck you. I’m never--” His mind seemed to catch up to his mouth, because he clammed up all of a sudden.

“Never eating around me again?” Morty supplied. Rick looked away from him. “I figured it out, Rick, ok? You’re not as sneaky as you think you are or whatever.”

“Fuck you, Morty,” Rick repeated more quietly. He gazed out the little porthole to the stars beyond. 

Morty ran his fingers through Rick’s hair. He didn’t remember any of the words, but he started to hum Rick’s lullaby from the night before. Rick’s shoulders tensed for a moment and the line of his mouth hardened, but if he had planned on saying anything he thought better of it. Morty hummed to him until the tension drained from his body and he lay dozing, stars reflected in his eyes. He was beautiful, Morty realized. He smelled like smoke and he was high and he was a goddamn mess, but he was beautiful. Morty was done for. He was never going to get his heart back.

“What am I even doing here?” Rick asked suddenly, breaking Morty from his reverie. “Pers hates me. I--” Morty watched him literally bite his tongue. Whatever he had been about to say apparently wasn’t for Morty’s ears.

“Do you still love him?”

Rick closed his eyes and shook his head. “I never gave myself the chance to in the first place. I was having fun, and he was having fun, and then he was in love and I just...let it happen.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Rick snorted, “‘oh.’ I’m a real asshole, kid.”

“Yeah…” Morty couldn’t stop his fingers from running through Rick’s hair. He looked infuriatingly good with his 300-credit ‘bedhead’ haircut. “You kind of are, R-Rick. Maybe if you act like less of a dick now things will smooth over a little.”

“That’s the point, Morty. I can’t act like less of a dick. I don’t know how.”

Morty twirled a strand of Rick’s hair between his fingertips. “I’ll help you,” he said.

Rick arched his brow. “Why?”

Morty looked away. He had almost betrayed himself. “Because my job depends on the band staying together.”

“Oh.”

Had Rick been hoping for a different answer? That was just wishful thinking...right? He went back to humming, and both of them seemed grateful to be spared further conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Hush-a-bye my baby  
> Hush-a-bye my sun  
> Hush-a-bye oh piece  
> of my heart.
> 
> This pretty child  
> Wants to sleep already  
> Make him a cradle  
> of rose and jasmine.


	4. Whatever's Charming Disappears

It was hot in the venue. The stage lights were being tested, and they were making Morty feel like he was standing in the middle of the fucking sahara as he took a moment’s pause from lugging equipment and running cables. His fancy new clothes were sweat soaked, which he found frustrating in a dangerously emotional way. Rick had bought this outfit. He didn’t want it to get stained and ruined. That shouldn’t be something he cared about.

The other roadies had turned out to be nice people, which was an immense relief. He was out of his depth in every way imaginable. He had stood out when he showed up late to the hotel where his coworkers were staying, late and dropped off by one of the bosses. Thankfully no one had held it against him. They had explained the job to him, given him a shot of something sweet and green that made him pleasantly sleepy, and sent him to bed. In the morning Treese patiently showed him how to handle the cables and how to set up the monitors and the band’s amps. Morty was a bit overwhelmed, but he was better off than he would have been with a bunch of assholes for colleagues.

The backstage door opened, and The Flesh Curtains came walking through. Morty felt himself brighten when he saw Rick and saw an answering spark in the older man’s eyes. Rick smiled widely and made his way straight to Morty.

And  _ holy fucking shit _ did he look  _ good _ . Rick was a rock and roll god in tight leather pants that hugged his hips, slung low enough to show a trail of hair below his navel. His lanky body was sinched by a black leather corset studded with gleaming silver. His nails were painted and his eyes lined thickly. He smirked as he came up, towering over Morty even more than usual in his heeled boots. Morty felt small and ugly. 

He looked down on the ground. He could feel the eyes of all his new friends on him. Didn’t Rick know that this was embarrassing? He didn’t want his new coworkers to think that he was going to get preferential treatment. Now he was going to have to work twice as hard just to prove that he wasn’t going to slack off as the boss’s favorite.

He glanced to his right and saw one of the other roadies staring at him. What was her name? Mina? Miva? Something like that. She was a humanoid alien with large, faceted black eyes and dusty pink skin. 

“Geez, Rick, what do you w-want?” Morty said, trying to keep his voice down. 

Rick scoffed. “What, too good for me now, Morty? Can’t be seen with me in public? Huh?”

“No! I--” Morty pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten. “I don’t want everyone to think I’m getting any f-favoritism,” he hissed. He unconsciously leaned closer to Rick to try and keep their conversation private.

“Then you’re gonna hate what I’m about to say,” Rick said. He laughed an easy laugh when Morty pulled a frustrated face. “You’re coming to the afterparty with me tonight.”

“No Rick. No w-w-way. I told you I don’t want to go to any parties.”

“And  _ I _ told  _ you _ too fucking bad. I’m taking you and you’re gonna get high with me and have a good time. Someone needs to teach you to cut loose. You’ve got a stick wedged all the way up your butt, Morty.”

“I’m not going an--and you can’t make me, Rick!”

“One,” Rick said, holding up a thin finger, “I’m your boss. And your Rick,” he said.

“You’re not  _ my Rick _ ,” Morty grumbled.

“Two,” Rick went on, ignoring him, “I have a bargaining chip. Literally. If you come get stoned with me at the afterparty I’ll let you make me eat something.”

Morty opened and closed his mouth several times, flabbergasted. “That’s not fair.”

“Sounds fair to me. You don’t want to party. I don’t want to eat. The party will be good for you, and I’m reasonable enough to admit that a little food would be good for  _ me _ . You wanted to talk about ‘quid pro quo’ the other day? Well here it is, baby.”

Morty felt his color rise. Rick’s voice was merely friendly, but Morty’s heart was twisting on a string just watching Rick’s lips form the word ‘baby.’ He thought he saw a flash of something predatory in those cobalt blue eyes, a twitch in his sharp grin, but that was probably wishful thinking. Morty was plain as plain could be. Whatever inappropriate things he was coming to terms with wanting, he would never be appealing to someone as glamorous as Rick. Morty made a little noise of frustration that went far beyond his feelings about their little negotiation here.

“Fine. Just don’t tell the other guys about this, ok? I really don’t want to be the teacher’s pet.”

Morty’s eyes went wide as Rick suddenly reached out and pulled him into an embrace, his hand cradling the back of Morty’s neck. He felt Rick kiss the crown of his head. His heart began to slam through a syncopated rhythm. Then, as fast as it had begun it was over. Rick let him go and Morty backpedaled as if Rick was a hot stove he’d just touched. Rick’s carefree laugh washed over him.

“Enjoy the fallout,” Rick grinned.

“I’m gonna...I’m gonna fucking break your nose.” Morty’s blood pressure was up.

“C’mon, lighten up. Nobody cares.”

“ _ I _ care, Rick! I care!” He was so angry he couldn’t see straight. He felt like he was going to cry. “You know what?! Fuck you, Rick! Starve to death, I d-d-d-don’t give a shit! I’ll never go anywhere with you again.”

“Morty. Will you please just calm down? You’re the one who’s making a scene, kid.”

“And stop calling me ‘kid!’” His grandfather had called him that all the time. He didn’t like hearing it in another Rick’s voice.

“Morty,” Rick said a bit more calmly, “you need to take a chill pill. Look around. We’re the only two humans out here. I dropped you off at the hotel last night personally. Everyone already thought you were the teacher’s pet, hate to break it to ya. The only thing we could do to change their mind would be to never speak to me again. You don’t want to do that...right?”

Morty bit down hard on his tongue to stop himself from screaming an answer he might not be able to take back. He had to  _ think _ for a minute. That vulnerable look on Rick’s face wasn’t helping anything. Anyone but a Morty would have missed it, but he had  _ years _ of experience reading Ricks’ emotions at this point. This one might as well be wearing his heart on his sleeve, and that heart said that he didn’t want Morty to leave him. Morty thought back to holding Rick’s head in his lap and stroking his soft hair, how the world had shrunk down to just the two of them in the cramped bunk. He didn’t want to lose him, even if he could never be with him in the way his heart was stubbornly insisting on. His fury was quickly abating, leaving him standing in its wake holding his stupid crush in his hands like an idiot.

“No,” he finally admitted. Goddamnit, that rankled.

“See? Everything will be fine. Come to the dressing room door after the show and we’ll go to the afterparty from there.”

“Fine. But I-I-I’m making you eat a whole fucking banquet, ca-cabron, so you’d better buckle up.”

Rick snorted. “Good try. Kid.” He winked at Morty and, with a last floating laugh, hustled to his spot on stage for sound check.

“Asshole.”

The stage was clearing off, and Morty scanned the small crowd of venue employees until he saw the girl who had been looking at him earlier. She waved to him. That seemed like a good start, so he hopped down and went over to where she was standing at the edge of a little knot of roadies. 

“Hey,” she said. “So, you know Rick? You’re the same species, right?”

“Hey,” he answered. “Yeah. He gave me this job, so…” God this was embarrassing.

“What’s he like? You know, up close and personal?”

“He’s a real dick,” Morty groused.

The girl laughed, high and melodious. It was a laugh that Morty could get used to hearing. He studied her pretty features and wondered if he could convince himself to replace his inappropriate crush with a much healthier one.

“Most people just say some ass-kissing stuff about famous people being friendly and nice. I’ve done like ten tours now and I’ve never heard someone just go for it like that. You’re Marty, right?”

“Morty. Miva?”

“Mehva. You guys looked pretty friendly, though.”

“Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving.” Morty watched Rick on stage, completely at ease with his bass slung around his neck. He was playing and talking with the sound engineer, asking for more of his strings in the monitor. “I mean. He’s been really nice to me, too, in some ways,” he went on, feeling a bit guilty for slandering Rick to his employees. “He just thinks he can get away with anything, you know? It’s f-frustrating.”

“I see,” Mehva said. Morty wasn’t sure what to make of her little private smile. “Some of us are gonna have some drinks after the show tonight. Wanna come?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? It’s gonna be really chill, I promise.”

“It’s not that. I just…” Morty sighed. “I promised Rick I would come to  _ his _ party.”

“Ah.” There was that smile again. “Have you ever been to a Flesh Curtains concert before?”

Morty was relieved that she was changing the subject. “I’ve never been to  _ any _ concert before.”

“You’re in for a treat,” she said. “Alright, Morty, I gotta get to the booth. See you tomorrow at teardown.”

“Yeah,” he said, waving as she left. “See you tomorrow.”

The other roadies persuaded Morty to watch his first concert from the crowd, even though the rest of them would be in the wings, backstage. They made him stand in the front, right by the little half fence that would separate the crowd from the stage. He felt nervous and out of place in the plain black stagehand clothes that he’d worn, as concertgoers in elaborate punk getups filed into the place.  _ Then _ he felt moderately panicked by the press of bodies all around him. He was overheating and thinking about just leaving when the lights went down and the Emcee introduced The Flesh Curtains. The crowd went wild as the performers came out. Morty rolled his eyes at the sight of Rick walking onto the stage, one arm up in the air flipping the audience the bird and the other hand grabbing obscenely at his crotch. People all around Morty were screaming Rick’s name. No wonder he had such a fucking ego on him.

“You can all suck my huge cock,” Rick yelled out to the crowd cheerfully. They roared back.

The lights went down and the spots came up, and Rick’s fingers began moving over the strings. The bass notes vibrated Morty down to his core, filling his senses and instantly drawing him in despite himself. Squanchy joined him, bass and drums entering a musical conversation with one another. Then Birdperson’s warm, mellow voice layered in on top and completed the trio, bringing everything together as he began to sing. The lights flashed and jittered artistically. The crowd sang along. Away to Morty’s left some kind of massive, roiling fight broke out. Morty found himself swept away utterly. The music moved through him. He felt as one with the strangers jostling him on all sides. Everyone was here, hearing the same things he was hearing,  _ feeling _ the same things he was feeling. He had never felt so united with others before in his life.

Then he saw Rick notice him, and he suddenly had never felt so  _ set apart _ . He felt special. Rick’s lapis-hued eyes flashed and his brow arched. He held up his fingers to his face between notes and waggled his tongue between them suggestively. It was a gesture just for Morty--an outrageous, lewd gesture, but one just for him nonetheless. They locked eyes. Morty felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him. Rick looked so intense. He was clearly rapturously happy. The little lost boy was gone, replaced with this smiling imp. Good. Morty felt himself smiling back, which seemed to satisfy Rick. After a few more moments, he went back to scanning the crowd. 

After two encores, the venue lights finally came back up. Morty fought against the current of people rushing for the exits, bumping into sweaty body after sweaty body on his way backstage. The security guard recognized him from earlier and allowed him through the gate, and he took a few moments to cool down in the wings. He, himself, was dripping sweat. He probably stank. This wasn’t exactly how he wanted Rick to see him, but there wasn’t really much choice to be had.

He pushed through the dressing room door to find the band milling about with some fans. Rick was looking around, visibly bored, as a pair of lavender aliens hung off of his arms and looked up at him adoringly as they spoke. Then Rick saw Morty, and he lit up like a Christmas tree. The sight stilled Morty, frozen all the way down to his lungs that wouldn’t draw a breath. Rick was happy to see him. The look on his face as he shrugged off the twins and headed towards him would water Morty’s crush like a flower for a long time, he was sure. God, Rick really wasn’t making this easy on him.

“Well?” Rick asked eagerly, coming to stand toe to toe with Morty. 

“You were awesome,” Morty said, smiling bashfully and gazing at the floor.

“I know, right? We were on fire tonight.”

“That was my first concert I’ve ever been to.” Morty was getting sucked into conversation even though Rick wasn’t giving him anything to work with. He was just so excited, and Rick was his only friend and-- _ oh no _ , he realized,  _ Rick was his only friend _ . God, that probably had some terrible implications that his mind was too unsettled to think through right now.

“Morty?” Rick’s hand on his shoulder brought Morty back down to earth. “You ok, there, compa?”

“What? Y-Yeah, of course I am!”

“You zoned  _ way _ the fuck out. Did someone slip you something?” Rick looked around as if he would find the culprit slinking through the shadows.

“No.”

“You sure? You didn’t leave a drink lying around somewhere or anything?”

“Jesus, Rick, no!”

“Ok,” Rick said. “You listen to me  _ right now _ , Morty--you don’t take any drugs from  _ anyone _ but me, got it? Not even Squanchy, ok? He means well but he’s irresponsible.”

“ _ You _ calling someone else irresponsible? Geez, Rick, th-th-that’s pretty rich.”

“Whatever. Promise me right now, Morty. I don’t even want you going drinking with anyone else. These aliens have no idea what your system can and can’t take. They don’t know anything about humans at all. One shot of Kravian Rum and you’ll bleed out through your stomach, Morty. I’m not kidding about this.”

“Ok, ok, sheesh. I wo-won’t do any drugs without you, ok? Not that I was highly motivated to before, anyway.”

“Hey, Morty,” said Squanchy, walking up behind the boy. He was grinning ear to ear, eyes dilated like saucers. “Squanchy concert, right?”

“Hey, Squanchy. It was so a-a-awesome.” Morty found himself mirroring Squanchy’s smile. 

“Rick told me you were coming to the afterparty. We’re gonna get you  _ so laid _ !”

“Morty can’t go home with anyone. He has teardown in the morning,” Rick said. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and crossed his arms.

“I don’t want to get...l-laid,” Morty said awkwardly. 

“Squanch yourself. No pressure. Parties are all about having fun in your own way.”

“Yeah,” Morty said, turning accusing eyes on Rick. “Parties are about  _ having fun in my own way _ , n-n-not about drugs.”

“How do you know you don’t like drugs if you don’t try them? You chilled out after we smoked the other day.”

“Weed?” asked Squanchy.

“Y-Yeah,” said Morty, a bit embarrassed to be called out.

“I’ve got some primo herb if you want it.”

“I-I-I guess, I--” Morty was just about to accept when he felt Rick’s eyes boring into him.

“Seriously, Morty? You  _ just _ agreed not to take drugs from anyone else! What the fuck,  _ I’m standing right here _ and you can’t even keep it together?” 

“Sorry, Rick. I w-wasn’t thinking.”

“Am I seriously going to have to babysit you every minute of this tour?”

Squanchy looked back and forth between the two humans. “Woah. Didn’t mean to step on a landmine.”

“It’s not your fault, Squanchy,” said Morty.

“It’s not your fault, compa,” Rick echoed. “But yeah, you got a dime for the kid? He’s a lightweight--that’s all he needs.”

“Rick! What were you e-even getting mad at me about?!”

“Because  _ I _ know Squanchy’s weed is good, but  _ you _ don’t! That’s the whole point! I know what I’m doing out here and you’re a sheltered little bitch.”

“Sheltered?!” Morty was aghast. Rick was  _ such an asshole _ . Rich fucking dickbag. “Rick, I was fucking  _ squatting _ until like three days ago! I’ve been--”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Squanchy cut in. “No need to get in a fight, ok, guys? I’ll pass you the weed at the party. Just take a deep breath and I’ll meet you there.

Morty ground his teeth together and looked up at Rick. Why did he have to look so  _ good _ ? He was trying to be mad, but he couldn’t help but appreciate Rick’s sweat-tousled locks and the healthy flush of exertion still on his face.

“Fine,” said Rick. “Come on, Morty. See you there, Squanch.”

***

Rick stared down at the tray of food in his lap. The twinkling neon lights of the nighttime city were casting rainbow colors into the chauffered car. Weighed down by his own misery, he looked up at Morty. The boy’s face was shifting shapes as beams of light and shadow flickered over his skin.

“All of this?” Rick asked.

“All of it,” Morty said sternly.

“Come on, Morty, there’s so much here! That’s not fair.”

“Eat it or take me back to the hotel.”

Rick poked at the sandwich listlessly. There was so much meat on it. He felt his stomach turn over. A glance at Morty told him that the boy wasn’t going to give in. His jaw was set and his eyes were flashing. He considered taking him up on it and just dumping him off at the hotel, but something made him hesitate. He didn’t want to party without Morty. Just the thought of parting made him feel hopelessly lonely. Resigned, he opened the bag of Blue Meemoo Crispies and popped one into his mouth. It was an easier place to start.

“You’re doing a good job,” Morty said.

“Stuff it. You don’t have to fucking patronize me,” Rick snapped. “I’m a grown man, Morty, you little asshole.”

“Sorry,” Morty huffed. He turned his head and pointedly stared out the window. 

“Bitch,” Rick complained under his breath.

The Crispies went down easily, but the sandwich was another matter entirely. Each bite turned to cement in his mouth, and as he ate more and more of it he began to gag with every swallow. It had been too long since he had eaten a solid meal; that much was obvious. He always got so sensitive after a few days. Still, he stubbornly kept going until, after a particularly bad dry heave, Morty laid his delicate little hand on Rick’s wrist.

“It’s ok, Rick. You don’t have to finish it. I can tell you’re trying really hard,” Morty said quietly.

Rick looked down at the few remaining bites of sandwich in his hand. For a moment he considered trying to finish it, but he could already feel his guts twisting. He imagined his stomach straining against his corset. No thank you. He dropped the sandwich back onto its paper plate and wiped the crumbs off of his fingertips.

“Thanks,” he said grudgingly, tipping his flask to his lips to wash away the taste of meat and cheese. Whiskey prickled on his tastebuds. He relaxed.

“Yeah, well, I d-didn’t really want you to puke on us.”

Rick was thankful to Morty for giving him an out, for not making this about how fucked up he was. Maybe that was the inescapable implication, but it would have felt so much worse if Morty had given a speech about how brave he was being or some shit. Rick didn’t want to be pitied. He didn’t want to feel  _ seen _ . He reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair fondly.

“You know it would have gone straight in your lap,” he teased.

“I have no doubt,” Morty said with a snort. “Does puke come out of leather? Do you just throw out the old pants when you wake up covered in vomit?”

“How often do you think I wake up ‘covered in vomit?’ Jesus, Morty, I’m not  _ that _ bad.”

“I’ve been around Ricks for years; so yeah, pretty often, I-I-I bet.”

“It doesn’t come out of suede,” Rick said, after a pause. He might as well not even try to argue. “I don’t party in suede.”

“Then vomit on your own damn self. I don’t want stains on my--” Morty stopped short and suddenly looked away from him as if something fascinating had caught his eye outside of his window. “On m-m-my nice things,” he said. “Is this the place?”

They pulled up in front of a rented mansion, the lines all clean, crisp, and modern. There was already a party raging inside, showing through the huge windows that faced the driveway. Rick slipped out of the car, leaving his trash forgotten behind and slipping the flask back into his bag and trading it for a pack of cigarettes. Morty came up by his elbow as he was lighting one.

“You gonna offer me one?”

Rick flipped his zippo closed and took a deep drag. “Fuck no,” he said, his throat tight as he breathed out smoke. “You’re not taking anything addictive. Rule one.”

“I thought rule one was only take drugs from y-you.”

“Shut up. You’re not getting a cigarette.” 

“Fine.”

Rick watched Morty’s fingers tensing and relaxing on his elbow as he hugged his arms to his chest. He felt a bit guilty for dragging Morty out here like this just because  _ he _ wanted him there. It was selfish, but Rick had always been selfish and it wasn’t as if he was going to change. He breathed in smoke and turned his head away from Morty to exhale it.

“Let’s just go get high. Come on. I’m your pilot for the rest of the night.” Rick threw his arm over Morty’s shoulders and started walking them up the drive.

“Oh, geez, Rick...I’m just ‘the help,’ y-y-y-y-y-you know? I don’t think you should--” Morty tried to slip out from under him and yelped when Rick reeled him back in.

“Shut up, Morty. You think I’m embarrassed to be seen with you? I thought you knew about Ricks. I do what I want when I want and if anyone doesn’t like it then they can go fuck themselves.”

“If you say so…”

“I do.”

They walked up to the front door, where security let them in unchallenged. Fuck, it felt  _ so good _ to be famous. Rick came from nowhere and nothing. He would never really be free of his father’s rough hands or the casual racism of his American classmates, but he had clawed his way out of choking despair to the heights of the stars themselves. Maybe Rick couldn’t be proud of who he was, but he was proud of what he had done. No one could take away his doctorate. No one could take away his patents, or the albums he had cut. When he was dead, those facts about his life would remain, and he would be remembered. Aging punks would reminisce and say that The Flesh Curtains just weren’t the same after Rick Sanchez died young.

They drifted through the party, leaving a trail of cigarette smoke and smiles. Rick signed a few tits with the marker he kept in his bag for just such an occasion, and took half a dozen shots that were being shoved in his face like challenges to his ingress. He passed two of them off to Morty, who caved to peer pressure and choked them down.

“You’re gonna be thanking me for this in a minute. Calm you right down,” he said, as he pressed a shot of purple liquor into Morty’s hand. He had to lean in close and put his lips next to Morty’s ear to be heard clearly over the crowd that had gathered around them. He felt Morty shiver.

“I hate alcohol, R-Rick,” Morty complained. He subtly moved closer to Rick, who laid a hand on his side to still him. Rick could feel the warmth of Morty’s body. The smell of his sweat was sharp but not unpleasant. Rick had to consciously stop himself from pulling him flush against himself. “How come every t-t-time you want me to calm down y-you give me drugs?”

Rick shrugged and stepped away from Morty before he could do something stupid. “Because that’s how I calm down.”

“That’s not  _ healthy _ .” 

“No, but it’s effective. Drink up.”

Morty sulked at him, but a stern shake of the head had him tipping the shot down his throat. When he was done, he blinked down at the empty glass in surprise. Rick laughed.

“It didn’t taste horrible.”

“That stuff tastes like candy. I never touch it anymore ‘cause last time I had a taste I got carried away. Tastes the same coming up as it did going down. Now I can’t stand it. I see Squanchy, c’mon.”

Squanchy was visibly relieved that Rick and Morty were apparently getting along again. He handed over a cigarette case of pre-rolled joints over before being dragged off to a bedroom by a gaggle of groupies. Rick dragged Morty into the backyard. They sat on a balcony overlooking an enormous swimming pool one floor below, letting their legs dangle over the edge. Rick pulled out a joint and lit it, then passed it to Morty. Morty, looking a bit gone already, took a toke and passed it back. They shared the joint in silence for a while before Rick decided Morty had enough. He squeezed the cherry out and put the roach back into the cigarette case. Morty turned towards him a bit more, and Rick mirrored his posture. Their knees were pressed together, now, but Rick was determined to pretend like he didn’t notice. If Morty didn’t pull away, then neither would he.

Morty, crowned by the planet’s three moons hanging in the dark sky, was beautiful. That was undeniable. His warm amber eyes glowed in the darkness.. His hair had run away from him, fluffy ringlets blowing a bit in the warm summer wind. There was a subtle rosy flush on his cheeks. 

Rick wanted him with a sudden painful yearning. He tried to remind himself that Morty didn’t want him. He tried to remind himself that Morty barely seemed to tolerate him most of the time, in fact. But he kept thinking back to the way the boy’s soft fingers had felt in his hair when he was rocking Rick to sleep on the bus. He didn’t have to do that. He didn’t have to keep trying to make Rick take care of himself. Morty didn’t  _ hate _ him. 

Belatedly, he realized he was staring. Then, that Morty was staring back at  _ him _ , eyes hazy but rapt. Rick reached out and brushed his fingertips over Morty’s cheek. Morty gasped.

“Have you ever kissed a boy before, Morty?”

“N-No,” Morty answered breathlessly.

“Do you want to?”

“Fuck,” Morty whimpered.

“Quería hacer esto hace días,” Rick murmured. “No estoy acostumbrado a no conseguir lo que quiero.” 1  


“Rick…” Morty worried his lower lip between his teeth. Rick couldn’t look away. 

“Just shut up, Morty.”

He placed his hand over Morty’s where it was braced against the ground. When he leaned in, Morty held his breath and stiffened, but he didn’t lean away. Rick’s heart was beating out a mad tattoo. His lips were a mere inch away--

The door into the house opened and a pair of girls holding cigarettes spilled through.. Rick drew back as if he had been scalded. Something dark flashed through Morty’s features.

“I thought you weren’t ashamed of me,” Morty said. He didn’t give Rick the chance to explain that he’d just been startled. He just got up and pushed his way into the house.

“Oh my god,” one of the alien women squealed, “ _ you’re Rick _ ! Holy shit!”

“Fuck you,” Rick said, climbing to his feet. “You just fucked up my night.”

The pair of interlopers moved to block the doorway and wouldn’t let him through until he had signed both of their thighs and listened to their promises to get it tattooed on later. It was the sort of thing he would usually milk for an easy lay, but he untangled himself as quickly as he could and headed inside to look for Morty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 I wanted to do this days ago. I’m not used to not getting what I want.


	5. The Cure for Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning in Endnotes. Skip down if you think you might need it, but just so you know, everything in this fic is also and will continue to be in the tags.

The car dropped Morty off in front of his hotel, and he silently thanked all the gods who had ever existed that the drunken partier he’d bummed a ride from had kept them on the road. The fancy AI car they were driving probably had something to do with it. 

Morty was so tired, achingly tired in his body and heart. The moments were playing themselves over and over in his mind. Rick had been so close that he could taste the whiskey and smoke on his breath. Morty’s very soul had trembled within him. He had felt so heavy and light from the mixture of liquor and weed and desire in his system. For once he was going to get what he wanted.

Then Rick had shown him what he really thought of him.

Morty blinked away angry tears as he headed up the stairs to the second floor, where he was staying with another one of the roadies--an orange blob creature called Parf. The pounding of his feet on the steps was drowned out by the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. He couldn’t shake the image of Rick’s azure eyes, wide and round as he pulled away from Morty like he’d been slapped. Morty had been about to make a fool of himself, putting out like a cheap floozy with a man who was embarrassed to be seen with him. He should send those girls a gift basket for revealing Rick’s true feelings to him and saving him from making a huge mistake.

When he got to the second floor and started down the long balcony walkway, he saw Mehva leaning against the wall, blowing out smoke in a long, contented exhale. She opened her rich black eyes and waved to Morty, cracking a gleaming smile. The yellowish lamplight cast her in warm, peachy tones. She took another deep breath of smoke and beckoned Morty over.

“Hey. You’re home earlier than I expected. I figured Rick Sanchez partied ‘til dawn.”

“He probably does,” Morty said bitterly. “I...kinda ran away from the party.” Mehva held out her cigarette to him. He hesitated for a moment and then took it from her hand. The smoke smelled sweetly herbal, a scent he wasn’t familiar with. “What’s in this?”

“Kavukavu leaf. It’s just a mild stimulant. Kinda like caffeine.”

That sounded fine to Morty. He needed to sort his foggy head out. Stubbornly determined to break all of Rick’s ‘rules,’ he took a drag. The cherry popped and sparkled as he inhaled, and then he handed it back to Mehva.

“So,” she said, “why’d you run away?”

“Rick…” He felt a lump filling his throat. He tried to chase it away with smoke as Mehva handed the softly burning cigarette back. He didn’t want to talk about what had happened. “Rick is such an asshole. I just c-couldn’t…I couldn’t stay there anymore.”

“Famous people are dicks,” she said, nodding along. 

“What about you? I thought you had a party, too.”

“I ran away,” she said, a bit of a teasing smirk on her face. “Trexit was embarrassingly drunk, and I wasn’t really enjoying the vicarious cringe he was giving off, so I figured I would turn in early.” She gave Morty a lingering look. “There wasn’t really anyone else there to make it interesting.”

“Oh.” Morty felt his ears burning. He hoped that she couldn’t see in the yellowish light, or that she wasn’t familiar with human blushing. His mind was spinning in fibonacci spirals of sluggish thought. She was definitely flirting with him, right? Did he like that? His mind kept returning to Rick. 

“Yeah.” When Mehva took the cigarette from him, her fingers brushed against his. “Morty, I’m gonna cut the bullshit. I think you’re cute. Do you want to maybe go somewhere a little more private?”

“Uh...y-yeah,” he said. Fuck Rick. Morty didn’t need him. He was going to get laid all on his own with someone who actually liked him. His brows narrowed with his newfound determination. “We can go to my room if Parf’s at the party.”

“Awesome.” She gave him a smile that looked perfect on her heart-shaped face. “I’ll go get something for us to drink. You look like you need it.”

“S-Sure. I’m in 213. Just knock and I’ll let you in.”

Mehva stomped out the cigarette and they parted, moving opposite directions down the walkway. Morty let himself into his room and spent a few minutes busily cleaning his side up. He made the bed and zipped up his suitcase. Just when he was beginning to feel worried that she had bailed on him, Mehva knocked on his door and he let her in. He was strung tighter than a piano wire.

He had never done this before.

Mehva thrust a bottle of something purple into his hands on her way into the room. She pointed at the two beds in turn with a questioning look on her face.

“O-O-Oh, it’s th-that one,” he said, hurrying over to his side of the room. They both sat on the foot of the bed. He tried to look at her without staring at her. “You, uh, you look cute. In that top.”

She laughed and laid a hand on his arm. “It’s ok, Morty. You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat.

“I’ll go if you want me to,” she offered.

“No, no! Just let me--” he held up the bottle and let out a nervous laugh. “Liquid courage.”

She nodded, and he raised the bottle and took a few swallows. It was the same sweet liquor that Rick had passed to him back at the afterparty. The memory made him bitter, so he took a few more swallows. Mehva gently took the bottle out of his hands. He blushed, realizing that he must have looked like a complete lush guzzling down alcohol.

“Is this your first time?” she asked Morty gently. 

With his gut roiling and his mind clouded, he was helpless before her. He nodded silently.

“And you really want to do this?” she went on.

Again, he nodded.

“That’s really special, Morty. Thank you for sharing this with me.” Mehva took a sip and then put the bottle on the ground. 

Humiliatingly, he could feel himself trembling as she took him by the arms and turned him to face her. They sat with their knees touching, just as he had an hour ago with Rick. He swallowed hard, looking down at their legs. Why did this feel like a betrayal? He was the one who had been betrayed!

Mehva leaned in close. She smelled like flowers and kavukavu smoke. She laid a soft hand on his cheek and tilted her head and he tilted his…

Their kiss was pleasant. Really pleasant. Her mouth was soft and sweet, and she was patient with his inexperience. Morty wondered, though, whether this was all that there was, all that he was meant to feel. When Rick had almost kissed him he had felt like he was going to pass out. Those proverbial fireworks had gone off behind his eyes. Now, though...kissing Mehva felt good, but he wondered vaguely if he wanted to lose his virginity with someone who didn’t make those sparks kindle to life in his heart.

He let her push him gently onto his back, though, and her hand crept up under his shirt to splay across his belly as she kissed him. He felt like he was starting to get the hang of it, and he put his arms loosely around her waist as his tongue rolled against hers. He was so intoxicated that he almost didn’t hear the commotion at his door. Mehva apparently didn’t care about it, but Morty’s natural tendency towards anxiety had him sharply focusing in.

“Thanks again,” said a muffled voice. “I can’t believe I forgot my keycard.”

“No worries,” answered a second.

The door lock beeped and clicked right as Morty was gently but insistently pushing Mehva away from him, thinking that Parf had come home.

Rick Sanchez was the last person Morty had expected to see. 

Mehva, holding herself up above Morty, snorted in amusement. Morty scrambled away from her, bunching himself up against the headboard and hugging his knees. Rick stood still as death, staring at Morty. His eyes were as clear as water, and emotions swam through them back and forth as Morty watched. Morty couldn’t look away. They barely breathed, both trapped utterly in one another. 

“What are you doing here?” Mehva asked dismissively.

“Get out,” Rick said, his voice low. Morty recognized the note of danger in it.

“Get over yourself,” Mehva threw back at him.

Morty had seen his grandpa murder for less. He didn’t trust a Rick who sounded like that. 

“Y-Y-You should probably go for right now,” he stammered to Mehva. “Really, i-it’s ok. I’ll get in touch with you later.”

Mehva looked back and forth between the men for an indecisive moment.

“NOW,” Rick roared.

“Sheesh, I’m going.” Mehva was either very brave or very stupid to stay so casual in the face of Rick’s obvious fury. She grabbed her liquor and muttered some unflattering words as she skirted around Rick and left.

Rick stalked up and down the room, pulling at his hair. He looked like an animal in a cage. Morty could only watch him, struggling to breathe past the lump in his throat. He was so drunk, he was barely able to process what was happening.

“What were you doing?” Rick asked. His voice cracked.

“What does it look like?” Morty shot back. “You had no right bursting in here like that, Rick. You i-interrupted something really private.”

“Something really private,” Rick mimicked. “I didn’t know you were such a little slut, Morty.”

“If I were a slut, R-Rick, I would have slept with you! You don’t know anything, ok, so why don’t you just get the fuck out of here!”

Rick turned away from him, and Morty thought maybe he was wiping at his eyes. Was he crying? No way. Ricks didn’t cry.

“You didn’t give me a--let me explain,” Rick said, his voice thick with something. His shoulders slumped, his head bowed.

“There’s no explanation that is gonna change my mind!” Morty wrapped his arms around himself and swore that he wouldn’t cry. “I read you loud and clear back at the party. Just get out, Rick. I never want to see you again.”

Rick threw himself down on his knees beside Morty’s bed. “Please,” he pleaded. “Morty, I wasn’t ashamed of you. I was just--”

“No!” Morty turned his head away. “Don’t lie to my face. Just...just get out, Rick. Get out. Get the fuck away from me.”

“Morty…” Rick’s voice was as fragile as a spun glass ornament.

“Get out.”

For a tremulous moment, Morty thought Rick was going to reach out for him. Instead, he drew himself to his feet. Morty heard the click of the door handle as Rick wordlessly left the room.

***

It was two in the afternoon when Rick woke up. His head was throbbing and his mouth tasted like it was full of carpet fuzz. He climbed out of a pile of hot bodies tangled together on a rented bed. Cool. He’d gotten laid last night.

Far too sober in the light of day, he lit a cigarette and went in search of substances to abuse. Maybe he should have gone in search of his clothes first. The maid jumped then muttered to herself, shaking her head at the sight of his nudity. It was funny. He didn’t give a shit. 

He sat down on the couch and took a shaky inhale of smoke. There were some fat lines of...something still laid out on the coffee table from last night. It was white. Good enough. He picked up a length of straw and snorted both of them. It tasted like coke.

A man came out of the bedroom he had just left and sat down beside him, inviting himself into Rick’s space. He let him touch his chest and kiss at his neck, the man humming praise and promises to him. Rick stared straight ahead, occasionally bringing the cigarette to his lips as the man nibbled at his ear. When his fingers moved to Rick’s hair it felt as if he had been shocked. Morty had touched him like that. He recoiled away, shrugging the man off. 

“Go make yourself useful and find me some liquor,” Rick said irritably. The man huffed but moved away.

It had been two weeks since the night he had almost kissed Morty, and he hadn’t seen any more than brief flashes of him ever since. Morty was all Rick thought about. He had been going hard, trying to get the boy out of his mind, but it was impossible. He had never felt like this before. It was torture. He was dying. He kept picturing Morty with that Kreflian whore. Morty, who was his. Or should have been, anyway. Emotions and sex were getting all mixed together in his mind, and it was extremely uncomfortable. Did other people feel this way all the time? No wonder Birdperson hated him.

Squanchy walked into the room, stretching and yawning. His fur was all mussed. He hopped up on the adjacent couch, unbothered by Rick’s nudity.

“Hey, Rick,” he said.

“Hey, Squanch. You just wake up, too?”

“Nah. I just got back from round two with a little Mermerlian honey,” Squanchy said, waggling his brow. “Squanch me a cigarette.”

Rick passed the pack and a lighter over. He drank most of a glass of last night’s stale beer and then dropped the butt of his own cigarette into the remainder. An uncomfortable thought came into his head, and the more he turned it over and over the bigger it grew until it couldn’t be ignored.

“Squanchy. You gotta let me score some H off of you,” he blurted out.

Squanchy shook his head. “No way, compa. I told you I wouldn’t do that like two years ago.”

“You have to, man. I…” Rick wiped at his eyes, telling himself that he was just brushing the sleep out of them. “I’m not coping.”

“With what?” Squanchy asked pointedly.

“With the tour,” Rick lied.

“This has nothing to do with the fact that Morty isn’t squanching to you?”

“I don’t give a shit about that. He’s throwing some kind of tantrum. It’s no big deal.”

“Uh huh. Then why were you sobbing about it a week and a half ago after the Rexulon gig?”

“I was not.” Rick cast his mind back. He didn’t remember anything like that.

“You were. BP had to leave the room. It got ugly.”

“Fuck.” Rick looked down at his hands, tracing the edges of his chipped nail polish with his eyes. “Look, man, you gotta sell to me. I need to get high. Tequila’s not cutting it anymore.”

Squanchy sighed. “Try to talk to Morty first. If you talk to him and nothing gets better, I’ll hook you up. But I’m not going to keep selling to you, ok? This is a temporary squanch, not a long-term solution.”

“Thanks, Squanchy. You’re the best.”

“We’ll see,” Squanchy said doubtfully.

It wasn’t until three days later after the next gig that Rick had a chance to pull Morty aside. He cornered him in the filthy bathroom backstage by luck--good or bad, Rick didn’t know. He stood in the doorway, refusing to back down under Morty’s glowering frown.

It didn’t hurt that he was running on fumes and adderall. 

“How much longer are you going to keep pitching this fit, Morty?” he heard himself asking. No, no! That wasn’t what he had meant to say at all.

“I’m not pitching a fit, Rick. You’re a dickbag! Y-Y-Y-You just use people! Well, not me. I can’t believe I almost fell for your bullshit.” Morty crossed his arms over his chest. “Get out of my way. I’m tired.”

“No,” Rick said, trying to keep his voice firm. It was hard to focus. He was soaked with sweat, tired from the concert and weak with hunger. “You have to talk to me.”

“I don’t have to do anything you say.”

“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?” Rick clutched at his chest, willing Morty to see his sincerity.

“You’ve never said you were sorry, Rick! Not once!”

He had imagined himself saying it a million times, but Morty was right. He hadn’t apologized that night. His skin prickled. He didn’t have anything to apologize for...did he? 

“Well, that’s because I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said stubbornly.

Morty snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, big surprise there.”

“I mean it! I was just startled, Morty! Do I have to apologize for being startled?” Fuck, how high was he? ‘Startled’ didn’t sound like a real word anymore.

“Right. Ok,” Morty said sarcastically. “I guess you haven’t been avoiding me because you can’t get anything out of me now. I knew there was gonna be a quid pro quo! I knew it from day one!”

“I’ve been avoiding you because you’ve been avoiding me!”

“This is ridiculous.” Morty took a deep breath. Rick realized with a start that the boy was shaking. “I thought maybe I wanted to be together, ok, b-but I changed my mind. Just respect my wishes and get out of my way.”

“You wanted to be together?” Rick asked. The wind had gone utterly out of his sails. “Together together?” 

Only one other person had ever wanted him like that. He cast his mind back to high school, college, his years in Mexico City and on the Citadel. Every partner who had floated into and out of his life had seen him as the whore he was. They used him just as much as he used them. Birdperson had wanted something different, but Rick could never get his heart on board. Morty, though...Morty was different. Morty had managed to touch the lost child inside of Rick and steal his heart away. Morty had wanted to be together with him?

“Yeah, Rick.” Morty was visibly uncomfortable. “I don’t really think of myself as a-a-a ‘one night stand’ kinda guy.”

The door hit Rick in the back. He had no choice but to step aside and let the crewman in. No choice but to watch Morty slip out into the night. One moment, one second of lost control at the party that night had cost him the only thing he wanted anymore.

The party raged around him later that night, but Rick could see no color and hear no music. He drank until he puked, let someone or another suck his dick in the middle of the living room, and then found his sense of resolve and went to look for Squanchy.

“Squanchy. Compa. Pal,” he said, finally coming upon his friend. Birdperson was with him, already frowning at Rick. That was suboptimal, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Rick.” Squanchy seemed nervous as he looked between Rick and Birdperson.

“You guys were talking about me, weren’t you?” Rick asked. He could feel his face split by a friendly smile. “That’s ok. I don’t mind.”

“Rick, you’re not well,” Birdperson spoke up.

“He’s right,” Squanchy said. “I haven’t seen you this bad since--” He cut himself off hesitantly.

“Since the break up? I know. It’s awful. Don’t worry about it, though. I talked to--I talked to Morty,” he said, stage whispering as if that would keep Birdperson out of his secret. “So pony up. I want some smack.”

“Really?” Birdperson shook his head. “That’s low, even for you.”

“Hey,” Squanchy said, offended. 

“Did you just call me out for using heroin...in front of a heroin addict?” Rick asked with an astonished laugh.

“I don’t want either of you using heroin!” Birdperson said.

“Come on, Rick. Let’s go. We’re too low to hang out with BP.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Birdperson called after them. Rick just gave him the finger over his shoulder.

Rick and Squanchy let themselves into the only room in the house that was locked. Squanchy’s drug kit was in the en suite, spilling out onto the counter. He took out a little baggie of white powder. Rick reached out his hand for it, but Squanchy withheld it.

“Come on, what’s the problem now?” Rick whined.

“This is really good squanch,” the little cat said. “You only need half as much as you think you do, got it? If you OD I’ll never forgive myself. You don’t want to do that to me, right?” He held uncomfortable eye contact with Rick, burning his message into his mind.

“No,” Rick muttered. He had to look away. “I’ll be careful, jeezus.”

“Alright. I’m gonna give you some privacy. The syringes with the orange caps are clean.”

“Thanks.” Rick cleared his throat and called after his retreating friend. “Thank you, Squanchy. I really needed this.”

“Don’t thank me for this. BP’s right. You don’t have to sink this low.” Squanchy gave him a sad smile and let himself out of the room. Rick heard the click of the lock, and then he was alone.

He sat on the edge of the bathtub for a long time, looking at the little baggie, flicking the edge to make the powder inside jump. He should really give this some more thought, shouldn’t he? He didn’t want to, though. His heart was galloping away from him, full of--yes, fear, but also excitement. He had done this a few times before, and he remembered the experience fondly. He took a few deep breaths and reached into his rational mind, doing quick math to decide how much to take--factoring in his blood alcohol content, weight, and complete lack of tolerance. He easily found the paraphernalia he needed--spoon, lighter, gauze, syringe, and tourniquet. He ran water into a cup from beside the sink and then sat down on the ground and arranged everything in front of himself.

The preparation ritual was satisfying in and of itself. He measured out powder and water, cooked it together in the spoon. The thick chemical scent gave him a thrill of anticipation. He filled the syringe, using the gauze to filter the liquid, and set it all down with the syringe balanced on top of the water bottle to keep it clean.

It took a while to find a vein, as malnourished and dehydrated as he was. His left arm was a complete bust, so he snapped the tourniquet onto his right and--jackpot! There, in the crook of his elbow, was a deep blue vein just waiting to be used. 

The bite of the needle was thrilling. His hands shook as he pulled the plunger back and then pushed it down, injecting the drug into his arm. Quickly, he tore off the tourniquet and tossed aside the syringe.

Happiness is a warm gun, he thought to himself as he sank back against the bathtub. His body filled up with delicious heat as the high washed over him. His eyes went softly unfocused and his head lolled to the side. He was comfortable. Happy. Nothing mattered anymore, and that was beautiful. Why hadn’t he been doing this all along? He could feel the slow beating of his heart in his chest, and began to sing along in time. 

“Arrorró mi niño, arrorró mi sol, arrorró pedazo de mi corazón....”

He was going to teach Morty the words. That Morty had sworn never to speak to him again didn’t seem to matter much to his plans.

The door swung open and Birdperson was suddenly standing over him. He grinned up at him.

“Hey, buddy,” he greeted him. “I’ve sunk pretty low, huh?”

Birdperson knelt down in front of him. “Rick, can you follow my finger?” he asked gently.

“Come on, man, don’t harsh my mellow,” Rick complained jovially. He tracked the movement of Birdperson’s finger with his eyes.

“I didn’t come to ‘harsh your mellow,’ Rick. I came to make sure that you are ok.”

“I’ve never felt better. It’s nice down here in the gutter.”

“I hate seeing you like this, Rick.” Birdperson’s eyes brimmed with tears.

“Hey. Hey. Don’t--don’t cry, ok?” Rick clapped his ex on the shoulder. “I’m fine. This is just how I’m...this is...I was gonna end up here no matter what. No es para tanto.1”

“It didn’t have to be like this,” Birdperson said quietly. A fat tear ran down his cheek. Rick reached up to clumsily brush it away. “I wish I had been enough for you.”

“That’s what you don’t understand, Pers. You were too good for me. Always have been. Not enough? Fuck.” Rick shook his head. “Nothing is ever gonna be enough to scrape me together. You shouldn’t have tried for so long.”

“No,” Birdperson said. “I shouldn’t have. But I will sit with you now, if you want me to.”

“Ok.” 

Birdperson sat down beside Rick, and Rick leaned over and rested his head on his shoulder. This was going to hurt in the morning, he knew. If he remembered it. For now, though, Birdperson was warm and comfortable, and Rick was drawn in.

“Do you remember that night I took you to Venus?” Rick asked. His eyelids felt heavy, so he let them fall closed. “The lightning storm?”

“You were right. It was prettier than the stars would have been.” Birdperson laced his fingers together with Rick’s.

“That’s how I always want to think of you. Not fighting, not crying. Just you and me, on a balcony looking up at the pink clouds and the lightning dancing.”

“Please, Rick,” Birdperson said. “Please let me throw away the rest of the heroin. I don’t want you to do this to yourself.” He paused. “Is this really all over Morty?”

“Mm.” Rick didn’t see any reason to lie about it now. “I tried to kiss him but some bitch interrupted us and now he hates me over a stupid misunderstanding. I think I was falling in love with him, Pers.”

“Generally when one is in love they don’t have sex with strangers in front of other strangers as you did an hour ago.” Birdperson’s tone was stiff, testy.

“I’m just trying not to feel it.”

“Then I’m glad he wants nothing to do with you.”

“Ouch. But fair.”

Rick cracked his eyes open and peered at the paraphernalia strewn about the floor. His eyes fell on the baggie with the rest of the heroin. There was plenty left over for an overdose.

“I don’t know why you’re throwing yourself away over someone you’ve only known a few weeks,” Birdperson said.

“You don’t understand.” Rick’s mellow was being undeniably harshed, now. “There are only gonna be so many chances for me. My secret is, I’m barely holding onto this life on the best of days. When something like this happens, it’s just another reminder that I’m garbage. I’m poison. I was never meant to be happy, Pers. So what am I even doing here?”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. Get clean, Rick. Get help. You’re so young. You have every chance in the world to be happy.”

Rick sat up straight with a groan. “I think I want to be alone now,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Fine.” Still, Birdperson hesitated before climbing to his feet. “When you end up all alone, Rick, remember that you wanted it that way.”

“Yeah,” Rick muttered after Birdperson’s retreating form. “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Heroin/IV drug use
> 
> 1 It's no big deal


	6. Collect Calls to Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Friendly reminder to read the tags. There's some stuff in this fic that people may find heavy, and I'm updating them as I write.

Morty stood peeking around the corner into the backstage hallway. Rick was standing at the other end, leaning against a brick wall. His head was slumped and nodding. The light directly above his head cast a warm orange halo on his dark tresses and glimmered on his bare, sweat soaked torso. 

He looked so thin.

Morty wouldn't have admitted it, but he had been watching Rick ever since their fight after the party. Rick was self destructing, and Morty was taking hits of the painful descent like his own personal drug. Squanchy had pulled Morty aside more than once to ask him to give Rick another chance. Birdperson, on the other hand, had warned him away. They had both confided that Rick had tried heroin. That he might be doing heroin. Morty felt his soul trembling at the thought. What was this about? Was it just how Rick lived? Was it about Birdperson? Was it about Morty? He had been on the verge of asking when he started spying, and what he saw threw his emotions out of a tenth story window. It probably said something bad about him that he kept climbing back up those metaphorical stairs just so he could be tossed down again. 

A humanoid alien of indeterminate gender glided out of the dressing room on impossibly high heels. Rick barely looked up as they stepped up in front of him, brushing their fingers across his chest in an unmistakably intimate gesture. They craned up to whisper to him. Rick pulled out a cigarette he had stashed behind his ear.

"You smoke?" he slurred. 

"I do if you want me to," the green alien said. Their long, insectoid antennae twitched.

Rick snorted and rolled his eyes. "Guarantee I can get you off before this is gone," he said, pushing the cigarette between the alien's lips. "You can fuck my throat, baby. I love that shit." He produced a lighter and held the flame steady for the alien to get a cherry going. "One rule: you gotta put that out on me when you're coming. You follow the rules, you come to the afterparty. Deal?"

"Seriously?" The alien's laugh sounded fake to Morty, but maybe that was just how people laughed on their planet. "Wow. I heard you were hardcore, but…" They trailed off in another laugh. 

"You in or out?" 

The alien blew smoke in Rick's face. "In. I've got condoms in my--"

"Fuck that. I'm clean and vaccinated. It doesn't matter if you've got something--I won’t get it.." 

Rick switched their places, pushing his partner against the wall. He dropped down to his knees in front of them and pushed their skirt up and their panties down. Morty couldn't see much detail with Rick's head in the way, but soon the alien was staring at the ceiling with half lidded eyes. Rick choked and gagged as the allen enthusiastically thrust their hips into his face. With one hand they smoked and occasionally flicked ash onto Rick's body, and with the other they gripped his hair. Cruel words dripped from their lips. Rick moaned wantonly as he was called a worthless whore. He reached between their thighs and his long fingers worked at some unseen crevice or orifice. The alien moaned. They changed their tune, now praising and begging as smoke rose from their lips like incense carrying a prayer. Yesyesyes, they chanted. Their hand only hesitated a split second before they cruelly ground out their cigarette on Rick's collarbone, shouting out nonsense as they came.

Rick sat back, breathing sharply. He wiped his face with a shaky hand. "Fuck," he said, his voice low and shaky. He put his hand to his shoulder, digging his nails into the skin on either side of the burn. His breath hissed through his teeth. 

"I can do you, now, ba--"

"No, fuck off. Jolee's out back. Black car, tinted windows. Tell her Rick says to take you to the afterparty."

"You're not coming?" 

"I need a minute."

The alien hesitated for a moment. "Can I take a picture?"

"Sure. I don't give a fuck."

When the alien was satisfied they left Rick on the floor, back against the wall again. Morty watched with disgust and pity as Rick unzipped his pants and took his hard cock in hand. With his other, he pushed hard into the fresh burn on his shoulder as he began to frantically beat off. "Morty," he groaned.

Morty's breath hitched in his throat. He backpedaled and slapped his hand over his mouth. No. No way. He couldn't fucking take this anymore. It was fucked up beyond words. He wanted to go to Rick and hold him and stop his pain. Instead he turned and fled into the night. 

He didn't stop panicking the whole way back to the hotel, so he almost missed the note that had been slid under the door.

You should really come out with us this time. 412 Nebula blvd.  
Mehva 

He stared at the slip of paper, his mind empty. Thoughts began to grow in him like creeping vines shooting fingers into his foundations. He was tired of seeing Rick blatantly fuck anything that moves while he, himself, couldn't put down the torch he carried for him. If Rick really wanted him he had a fucking funny way of showing it. He crammed the note into his pocket and turned back around to try and catch his taxi again before it could drive off.

412 Nebula turned out to be a small but noisy club called Doppler Shift. The lights were dim, as if half of the bulbs were burnt out. The floors were sticky. The bartender didn't card him, just took one look at him and served him something fruity and blue on ice. Morty wasn't sure whether carding wasn't a thing on this planet or whether the fishlike creature behind the bar just didn't give a shit. Morty sucked down his cocktail and ordered another.

"Morty!" Parf, his roommate for the tour, hurried over and clapped him on the shoulder with a gooey hand. "Glad you could finally make it out to one of these!"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"No worries. No pressure or anything."

"Well, I'm here to get shitfaced." Morty threw back his second drink and gestured for a third.

"Dude, slow down." Parf lowered his voice. "I hear Mehva still wants to fuck you. If you drink too much you won't be able to...you know." He pantomimed a 'rising action' with his pointer finger.

Morty choked on a wave of secondhand embarrassment. "Just because she wants to f-f-fuck me doesn't mean--"

Morty didn't notice Mehva coming up behind him until she mischievously inserted herself into the conversation. "Doesn't mean what?"

"Oh geez," Morty fretted. He buried his burning face in his drink, resolved to make this one last as long as it could, just to keep hiding behind it. "Hi, Mehva." 

"Hey, Morty." She sat down on the bar stool beside Morty, on the opposite side from Parf. "So are we talking about why you haven't slept with me yet?"

Morty spluttered, thankfully able to spit his mouthful of cocktail back into the glass rather than spraying it everywhere. He coughed liberally. Mehva laughed. So did Parf. Morty shot his traitorous roommate a dirty look.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes." She waved the bartender over. "Three shots of Xythum and another...blue thing," she said, gesturing to Morty's drink. 

The bartender poured three shots of something that smelled sharply of cinnamon and slid another cocktail to Morty. Mehva distributed the shots between the three of them. "Ret'ket!" she whooped and tossed her shot back. Morty was beginning to regret coming here. He was already drunk, his senses and wits dulled. But, with no out in sight, he tossed the shot down his throat. It tore through his tastebuds like a fire raging in his mouth. It was like eating an entire ghost pepper--which he should know, having been dared to try one by bullies in middle school. In desperation, he sucked down his cold, sweet tropical drink.

"Oh my god," he wheezed. Tears poured down his red face.

"Uh oh. I guess his species has a capsaicin sensitivity," said Parf. 

A few moments later another drink was pressed into Morty's hand. It was thick and creamy, and he drank it gratefully, swishing it all around his mouth until he felt some degree of relief. 

"Am I gonna die?" he groaned once the worst of the pain seemed to have ebbed. He recalled Rick's warning about alien liquors that could kill him. 

"No," said Mehva. She touched his shoulder apologetically. "I didn't know humans had capsaicin receptors. I should have asked. I'm sorry." 

"What's cap...says...capsec...what's that?" 

"It's the chemical that makes things...I think the word is specy?" 

"Spicy," corrected Parf. 

"Spicy," Morty echoed. 

He was plastered now. There was no denying it. His mind kept getting hung up on images from earlier, pictures of Rick on his knees for someone else. And the sound, oh, the sound of his name on Rick's lips as he pushed himself further into self destruction. It wasn't fair. If he wanted Morty so badly then why wouldn't he fight for him? The fact that Morty had done everything in his power to discourage that didn't seem like a very good reason right now. Ricks knew everything. Rick should know that Morty wanted him. Right?

Well, fuck Rick. 

Morty climbed unsteadily off of his stool. " C'mon," he slurred to Mehva. He held out his hand to her. "I wanna...wanna dance."

"You gonna be ok here?" the girl asked Parf. 

"Just don't fuck on my bed," Parf said with a shrug. 

"Your bed is s-sticky," Morty said disapprovingly. 

"Alright, stud, let's get on the dance floor before you pass out," Mehva giggled. 

"Oh yeah," Morty grinned, reminded of his purpose in getting up.

He and Mehva clasped hands and she guided him to the dance floor. Just as he had at that first concert, Morty noticed that everyone around him--Mehva included--was dressed to the nines. He felt plain in his stagehand blacks. 

"I like my shoes," he said, gesturing down at them. They were the fanciest thing he was wearing right now. 

"Uh huh," Mehva said, humoring him and looking. "They're cool." 

"Rick bought them for me."

Something shifted in her expression. She grabbed Morty by the waist and started to move their bodies together. Morty found it thrilling. Drunk as he was, he had no shame. He put his arms up and cheered as he moved in sloppy time to the thumping music. The whole crowd bubbled around him like boiling water. Music rose and fell in what felt like a neverending rollercoaster ride. The colored lights flashing overhead reminded Morty of candy. He laughed for the simple joy of moving his body. Mehva echoed his smile. They danced together until they were both grimy with each other's sweat. 

A pair of hands grabbed him around the waist from behind. He was pulled back against a strong but narrow chest, while a sizeable bulge ground against his ass. 

"Rick," he sighed contentedly, leaning back into the presence.

"Hey," Mehva said sharply, as if she was scolding an unruly dog, "get lost, pal. Find someone else to creep on." 

"Why don't you let him decide," bitch said a thickly accented voice in Morty's ear. 

"You're not Rick," he slurred in confusion. "Where's Rick?" 

"Who the fuck is Rick?" asked the disembodied voice. "Why don't you come with me, sweet stuff? I'll take you to him."

"He's not going anywhere with you. I'm giving you five seconds to fuck off before I scream 'rape,'" Mehva threatened. 

"Bitch," the presence said. He took his hands off of Morty and by the time Morty turned to look he had disappeared into the crowd.

The music morphed again, slowing down a bit to give the dancers a moment to breathe. Mehva cuddled up to Morty and laid her cheek against his so they could speak without yelling. 

"For someone who thinks Rick is an unbelievable asshole you sure were ready to cuddle up to that guy when you thought it was him," said Mehva. 

"What? No."

"Morty, are you seriously drunk enough to lie to me about something I just saw?"

"Probably," Morty allowed.

"When he interrupted us a few weeks ago it was 'cause he was jealous, wasn't he?" 

"No. Yes. I don't know," Morty groaned. He leaned his forehead against her shoulder. "It doesn't matter." 

"He seems like an unrepentant dick. You deserve better than that."

"I know," Morty lamented. "I do. I know I do. But I can't get him out of my head. He has a good side, he r-really does. He's lonely."

"You don't have to be the one to fix that."

"What if I want to, though?"

"Frankly? Then you're an idiot." 

"I am." Morty's stomach was starting to churn. "I gotta...I think I gotta go throw up."

"I'll wait for you at the bar."

He just patted her shoulder in acknowledgement and stumbled off through the forest of writhing bodies. It was so quiet in the bathroom that his head pulsed with the afterimage of the music raging outside. For a moment he thought he was going to be fine, after all, but his body gave a sudden lurch and he just barely had time to pitch himself to his knees in front of the strange alien toilet so he could violently empty his stomach. He vomited and retched until his muscles ached and he was spitting up nothing but stomach acid. 

Groaning like a zombie, he dragged himself to the sink to wash his face and rinse his mouth. He held his own miserable gaze in the mirror. He had blown the capillaries around his right eye from puking so hard. His hair was ringleted with sweat, his face drooping from inebriation and exhaustion. He was so plain. And, as far as fucking messes go, he wasn't a beautiful one like Rick. What did the rocker even see in him? Probably just a conquest unmade...right? There was no way that Rick could ever actually want him for him. He had made that abundantly clear. Or, the voice of doubt cried out within him, maybe he was telling the truth and you rejected him your damn self.

Morty needed some fresh air.

He stumbled through the club and out the front door. The city smelled like smog and damp, but the air was cool and the night breeze ruffled his hair. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk and looked back and forth down the street. A cloud of smokers huddled in front of the club. People walked down the boulevard, silhouetted by the twinkling lights of the entertainment district. Morty felt as if he could be swept away into the city and disappear forever. He wasn't sure that wasn't what he wanted. If he were gone, then none of this could follow him. Rick would never find him. He would be homeless, but he had been homeless before. He was older and wiser now. It seemed to be summer here, too. That left plenty of time to get his shit together before it got cold. 

He closed his eyes, and in the eigengrau he saw Rick slumped in that hallway calling out Morty's name in pain. There was no way he could just leave. He couldn't fly closer to the sun, but he couldn't utterly leave it's warmth, either. Once upon a time he would have run without looking back. Now he didn't want to freeze alone in outer space. Morty turned back to the club. He had to find Mehva and let her down gently. He had to make her understand. Maybe she would even help him. She seemed like a nice girl.

Morty headed toward the front door when a male Gazorpian wearing a 'Staff' teeshirt stepped his way. He was so muscular that he barely fit in his clothes, and he was frowning right at Morty.

"Wristband?" he said. His voice sounded like he was gargling gravel.

"Uh…" Morty looked down at his bare wrists. "I guess I don't have one." 

"Cover charge is 30 blemflarks." 

"What? But I just came from inside!" Morty scowled at the bouncer even though he couldn't focus his eyes on him. He stuck a finger in the much larger being's face. "You s-s-saw me come outside!"

"If you didn't pay for a wristband then you don't go back in. Isn't it past your bedtime, anyway?" the bouncer said with a stony chuckle. 

"I'm a fucking adult." Morty was so sick of being called a child. 

The billow of smokers walked by. They all flashed pink wristbands and the bouncer stepped aside for them. Morty tried to sweep inside with them, but the bouncer was faster than his drunk ass, and blocked his way.

"40 blemflarks," he said sternly.

"Last time it was 30!" 

"Dumbass fee. And it's gonna keep goin' up the longer you stand there annoying me." 

"I don't have 40 blemflarks to throw around!" He had already spent far too much tonight. He had been hoping to bum a cab ride with one of his coworkers, or at least split the bill. "Please? I can slip you…" He did some mental math. "15 under the table." 

"Now it's 50. Get outta my face, kid." 

Morty's temper was boiling over. He tried to shoulder past the bouncer and was roughly pushed back. He staggered but kept his feet somehow. 

"Last chance before I call the cops," the bouncer warned. "You do not want to get physical with me. Stop loitering and pay up or fuck off." 

"Oh yeah?" Morty spat. It didn't seem like enough of a comeback.

So Morty whipped out his dick and pissed on the guy's shoes.

That'd show him. 

"Motherfucker," the bouncer swore. He jumped back, but his shoes and the hem of his jeans were already wet. "Fucking piece of shit…" 

Morty didn't even get to tuck his dick away before the bouncer had two of his massive arms around Morty's neck in an effective chokehold. With one of his empty hands he flipped a switch on the podium he was standing near.

"Breathe…" Morty managed to choke out. He was surrounded by the foul, bitter smell of gazorpian sweat.

"You can talk, you can breathe," the bouncer said dismissively. 

Morty struggled until he was exhausted, which didn't take long in his inebriated, oxygen deprived state.It wasn't long before a car pulled up and two uniformed green aliens with trumpetIike ears climbed out. 

"Help," Morty wheezed. He was summarily ignored.

"Hey, Zeb," said one of the presumable cops. "What'd this one do?" 

"Bitch pissed on me." 

The bouncer let go of Morty, who thought for a moment that he could make a run for it. He tripped on his own feet and fell right against the second cop. His hands were zipped into plastic cuffs and he was thrust into the back of the squad car while the first cop took Zeb's statement. 

Morty gazed out of the window and felt sorry for himself. This was probably Rick's fault. Somehow.

***

The cold seeped up from the wet, gritty pavement into Rick's knees. His thin hoodie did nothing to protect him from the biting wind. Winter in Michigan was a real bitch. Rick's knees and fingers and throat were already bruised, and he wasn't done yet.

"C'mon, he's had enough," said Tommy Herschowicz. Tommy had always been the soft one.

Then again, he hadn't exactly been complaining when it was his turn.

"It's no fair if Tyler doesn't get a turn," argued Sam. He was still zipping himself up, turning his back on the shivering boy. "Besides. He likes it. Don't you, Sanchez?"

Rick licked his lips, trying to rid himself of the bitter taste of Sam Cunningham's jizz. Rick deserved this. He wasn't sure if that was the same thing as loving it, but what did that matter? He needed a warm place to sleep, and sucking dick was his only marketable skill. He had figured this hustle out a long time ago.

"Throw in a dime of coke and I'll deepthroat you, baby," Rick purred, opening his arms and beckoning Tyler forward.

"Ok, that's definitely not fair," Sam whined.

"You want the deluxe, you bring the coke next time," Rick said with a grin he didn't feel. 

He felt like a whore. He was a whore.

His father was right about him.

"He can really do it," Tommy said. Rick might as well have been invisible to them. Less than human, not someone who could answer for himself.

Fuck that.

"Guaranteed," said Rick, speaking just to be heard. To be counted. "One hit and you'll be hooked. I don’t bite, baby. C’mere.”

Rick gripped Tyler by the hips, ignoring the pain in his right hand. A hairline fracture in the fifth metacarpal bone, he reckoned. A boxer’s fracture. At least his dad’s jaw would be hurting him in the morning. Just the look on his face when Rick had punched back had been worth it.

“I’m not gay,” Tyler said, looking down at him as he unzipped his jeans. There was nothing behind his dull brown eyes. He was high, Rick thought, and stupid to boot.

“Lucky for you, I am,” said Rick. “I’m gonna suck off you better than your girlfriend ever could.”

“Don’t touch my ass,” Tyler warned.

“Don’t worry; I charge extra for that.”

Despite himself, he felt his own cock stirring back to life as Tyler inelegantly plunged into his mouth. And yes, he had to admit to himself, Sam was right. He loved everything about this. He loved kneeling in the gutter like the worthless piece of trash that he was, choking on a stranger’s dick. It validated everything that he knew about himself. The mixture of power and humiliation was intoxicating. Every grunt that fell from Tyler’s lips tumbled through Rick’s body to settle in the pit of his stomach. His body tensed and spasmed around the intrusion of the other boy’s cock. Rick’s nose was buried in Tyler’s coarse pubic hair, and the sharp foreign scent of his unwashed dick flooded Rick’s senses. 

“Oh shit,” Tyler groaned as he began to fuck Rick’s face in earnest. “Shit, Sanchez. Fuckin’ take it.” 

Rick gagged and choked, but he was powerless to stop this now because Tyler was holding him hard by his hair. It hurt, especially where his head had cracked against the floor in the tussle with his father earlier that night. Rick felt tears hot and heavy at the corners of his eyes and he was glad he could blame it on the rough treatment he was getting. 

‘Dad was right about me. Dad was right about me. Dad was right about me,’ he thought, over and over as Tyler Grove’s cockhead slid in and out of Rick’s throat. He tightened his grip just to feel the pain in his broken hand. He couldn’t--

Rick cracked his eyes open and groaned. For a few moments he was utterly disoriented, still rooted in that horrible memory. It took him a while to realize that his phone was ringing. He untangled his legs from the girl he had apparently shacked up with the night before. He sat up and answered the call at the last second. It was an unknown number, but he wanted to silently thank whoever had woken him from his nightmare. 

“‘Lo?” he mumbled. The girl turned over behind him. He felt her hand trail across his back.

There was nothing on the other end but shaky breathing. Fuck. Another fan had gotten his number somehow. He was going to have to change it. Again.

“Rick?” Morty’s voice was muffled by a shitty phone connection, but it pierced to the heart of Rick nonetheless. 

“Morty?” Suddenly much more awake, Rick swung his legs over the edge of the bed just to feel the ground beneath his feet, as if it would ground his mind in turn. “What do you wa--what did...why...why are you calling?”

Morty let out a hysterical laugh. “Remember when you told me that I wasn’t going to jail?” he giggled. His voice was slipping and sliding all over the place. He was drunk. “Guess what?”

“You’re in jail?”

“Ding ding ding! You win a--you win the prize!” Morty seemed to think that was very funny.

“Morty...I’m gonna come down and bail you out, ok?”

“That’s why I called you! Good ol’ dependable Rick,” Morty said, heavy on the mocking tones. “Always there for me when I need you!”

“Morty...just…” Rick sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just hold on tight, ok? I’ll be right there.”

“Not like I have anywhere to go!”

The line went dead.

Rick turned toward the girl who was smiling up at him, still half asleep. And half naked. 

“Get out,” he told her, coldly and insistently. He was shaking all over.

She sat up on one elbow. “What? I can just wait for you to get back. I--”

“No. I want you out of here now. You have three minutes to get dressed and then I’m tossing you out with or without your clothes.” He got out of bed and began to dress himself, going for casual clothing and leaving his concert clothes strewn about the floor. 

“Your friend can sit in jail for a few more minutes,” the woman griped, but it seemed that she believed Rick because she hurried out of bed and fluttered about the room, putting herself back together and gathering her things.

“I didn’t ask you.”

Rick moved in straight, hurried lines like a pinball pinging around a table. Phone. Wallet. Keys. Cigarettes. Shoes. He grabbed two bottles of water and a few candy bars from the minibar to try and beat back the headache that was slowly gathering like a swarm of bees at the front of his head. Morty needed him. Morty needed him. He didn’t want to fuck this up because of a hangover. Rick herded the girl out of the room and shooed her away, heading down to street level alone. His high heels clicked loudly on the pavement as he hurried through the underground parking garage.

***

Ok, the big guy was definitely staring at him. Morty had stayed stubborn in the drunk tank for three hours before caving and asking for his phone call. Morty had seven numbers in his phone, and six of them were Ricks and Mortys he used to work with at Pickled Rick’s. The last one, thank god, was good old G-013. Morty wished he had gotten Mehva’s number, or Birdperson’s or even Squanchy’s, but he was an idiot and had never bothered since they were all always together. The big guy had, in the end, been the deciding factor. Morty didn’t know what kind of alien he was, but he was enormous and pink and seemed to be oozing some kind of foul smelling lavender pus. It wasn’t helping Morty’s overwhelming nausea and headache. He’d already thrown up on his jeans once, and once he had finally gotten the guard’s attention he’d been informed that he was just going to have to deal with the mess. 

The odor reminded him of a particular adventure with his old Rick--his grandfather. They had gone to Hex 6. The jungle they landed in was sticky hot and full of bogs, but apparently they needed some sort of rare fruit that Rick wouldn’t shut up about, so they walked and walked and walked. Morty had been keeping his eye out for blue leaves with five fingers as he’d been instructed when he first heard the hoofbeats. He hadn’t paid them much attention, at first, because he had finally spotted the damn tree. They could get the fruit, get back to the ship, and get the fuck out of there. He had climbed the tree despite Rick’s insistence that they should get out of there and come back another time. Morty hadn’t wanted to come back another time. He hadn’t wanted to ever go back to that godforsaken swamp ever again. So he had disobeyed, and when the hunters came he had listened to his own grandfather literally selling him for rights to harvest fruit. It had taken Rick seven hours to get around to liberating him, and by then he’d had a stomach full of alien ‘medicine.’ When he puked on himself on the way home, Rick had made him sit in it, as the cherry on top of his ‘lesson’--never, ever to disobey him.

“You sure are funny lookin’,” the big guy said, squinting his six eyes at Morty.

Morty looked down at his puke-splashed pants, feeling tears finally begin to fall. He wished he had never gone out tonight. He wished he had never agreed to go on this tour, or even met Rick G-013 in the first place. He wished he had never known any such person as Rick Sanchez in the first place. Maybe he wished he had never been born.

The door clanked open. “Morty Smith,” said the guard.

Morty climbed to his feet and marched out of the cell, feeling for all the world as if he were walking toward his own execution.


	7. Who's Gonna Drive You Home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big Content Warning in the end notes, click to skip down to them if you think you might need it.

Morty tried not to look at Rick, but the older man was staring so blatantly that it was impossible not to notice the way his eyes roamed over his body. Rick looked like he was full of nothing but faintly trembling air, light and fragile. He was hiccuping great breaths. He looked like he was about to cry, his electric eyes wet and shining. Morty looked away, embarrassed on his behalf.

“Morty Smith, sign here,” said the cop at the desk, handing a tablet and stylus over. He looked bored, and after chucking a plastic bag of his belongings at Morty he went back to his book of puzzles, summarily ignoring the two of them.

“That’s it?” Morty asked, looking between the cop and Rick. He busied his hands, taking his thin wallet and dated cell phone out of the bag and slipping them into his pockets.

“I posted bail,” said Rick. His voice sounded weak. He licked his lips and went on, though he barely sounded any better afterwards. “We have to stay in the city until your hearing, but you’re coming home with me now.”

“That’s ok, Rick,” Morty said coldly. He took his wallet back out and counted up the local currency he had. It wasn’t much, but it would get him a little closer to the hotel. He would walk from wherever the taxi let him out. He brushed past Rick, who followed him out onto the street, walking at his heel like a puppy. 

“Morty,” Rick called. “Morty!  _ Morty! _ ” Rick used his long legs to his advantage and hurried around Morty, blocking his way forward. He grabbed Morty’s arm when he tried to sidestep him. “For fuck’s sake! Let me drive you back to your hotel.” Morty watched him bite his lip. He could practically see the script scrolling by behind Rick’s eyes. He had rehearsed this. “Look. I know your per diem isn’t very much, and you’re supposed to be saving money for the future. Just let me drive you back to your place so I know you got home safe. It’s like a twenty minute drive. Twenty minutes, in and out.”

Morty wrenched his arm away, and was satisfied at Rick’s look of horror as he realized he’d been holding onto him. Rick stepped back, and Morty finally noticed the sharp  _ clack  _ of his feet against the pavement. He looked down and snorted. 

“You thought picking me up from jail w-w-w-was a ‘high heels’ kind of occasion?”

Rick lifted his foot and looked down at it as if he had just noticed his choice of footwear. “I guess they must have been right by the bed.”

Rick had been in a hurry. Rick had been in a hurry to  _ rescue him _ . Even though Morty had been spurning him for weeks, Rick had gotten up in the middle of the night to personally come pick him up when he could easily have sent the band’s manager or another roadie. Something coiled uncomfortably in the pit of Morty’s stomach. He hesitated.

“You have a car?” 

“I took the equipment truck.”

“Fine,” Morty finally allowed. “But don’t th-think this changes anything.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” 

Why did Rick have to sound so sad?

They backtracked and headed to the parking garage behind the police station, where their cargo van stuck out like a sore thumb. Morty had a bit of trouble climbing up into the cab, so Rick leaned across the bench seat and offered his hand. Morty didn’t want to take it, but he also didn’t want to fall on his ass so he slipped his hand into Rick’s and allowed himself to be hauled inside. Immediately he buckled in and scooted against the door, huddling to it and staring pointedly out the window. They pulled out onto the city street.

Morty had expected to be in fear of his life, but Rick turned out to be a calm and steady driver. Morty started stealing glances after about five minutes, and was instantly taken with the way Rick looked behind the wheel, casual and relaxed, thoughtful and attentive. It was nice to be able to look at him, outlined against the headlights of surrounding traffic, with him not trying to pierce Morty with his stare. It made him feel like he could be near him without all the air being pressed from his lungs.

“I can see you, you know,” Rick eventually said, looking over his shoulder to clear his blind spot for a left turn. “Just say whatever it is, Morty.”

“You’ve been doing heroin.” 

He watched Rick freeze up. It wasn’t until that moment that Morty really believed it. “Morty…”

“ _ Heroin _ , Rick?  _ Heroin? _ Really?”

“What do you want me to say, Morty?! Huh?! Yes! Ok? Yes, I’ve been shooting up now and then.”

“Heroin i-i-i-isn’t a ‘now and then’ kind of drug, Rick!”

“Oh, what do  _ you _ know? Fuckin’ some kinda expert all of a sudden,” Rick grumbled.

“You’re deflecting.”

“You’re damn right, I’m deflecting! You toss me aside like guttertrash and then you come in here and  _ judge me _ for taking painkillers for my  _ fucking pain? _ ”

“Pain? Rick, you don’t have a-a-a-a broken leg!” 

“No, Morty, what I  _ have _ is a lot harder to cure than a fucking broken leg. Ok?”

“Boo freaking hoo,” Morty said. He could feel how uncharitable he was being, but he was angry and  _ drunk _ and--wait, was that why his grandfather had always been such an unmitigated asshole? “What, your f-f-feelings are hurt?”

Rick pressed his mouth into a thin line. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Buildings flashed by outside, and then they merged onto a highway. Just when Morty was sure that the rest of the drive was going to pass in silence, Rick spoke again. His voice was flat and steady.

“When I was 15, my tio Luis raped me,” Rick said. “My dad paid him to do it. He found out I was gay, and they said it would fix me.” He laughed humorlessly. “Guess what? It didn’t fix me.”

Morty felt like the cab of the car was spinning around him. He couldn’t move, not even his lips even as he urged himself to  _ say something, say anything goddamnit!  _ He couldn’t fathom the unbelievable cruelty that would rot a human soul that irrevocably. To treat a stranger that would be an inhuman act, unspeakable, unforgivable. To treat  _ your own son _ that way...well, satan himself would spit out a sinner who would stoop to that.

“And that was just  _ one day _ of my childhood, Morty. So, yeah,  _ my feelings are hurt, _ and I’m gonna deal with it however I fucking see fit.”

Morty swallowed, but his mouth was stubbornly dry. “What happened? To your--”

“The last thing I did on Earth was kill tio Luis. He wasn’t even cold yet when I fucked off to space.” Rick remained stubbornly dispassionate, but he tapped his finger against his lips as his eyes scanned the road. To Morty, it was a surefire tell that Rick was holding back tears.

Morty should have left well enough alone, but he had come this far and words kept drunkenly dripping from his mouth. “What about your dad?”

“I think he still lives in Michigan. I haven’t seen him since I turned 18.”

“You could...you could go back. Tell the cops. There’s no statute of limitations on prostituting your underage son. H-h-h-h-he’d go to prison. Take it out on him instead of yourself, Rick.”

“‘He’d go to jail,’” Rick snorted. The turn signal was loud in the cab as they exited the highway. “Nobody’s going to jail for some shit I can’t prove that happened more than a decade ago. Meanwhile, I didn’t exactly cover my tracks after I  _ committed murder _ . Estúpido niñito blanco privilegiado.1”

“Ok, maybe.” Morty flexed his hands, looking down at them in an effort to remind himself that this was real, this was really happening. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you back then, Rick. And you don’t deserve to be a junkie now.” He took a shuddering breath. “When’s the last time you a-ate?”

Rick winced. He looked so small and weak to Morty, now. “You don’t have to pretend you care. I didn’t tell you that to get pity.”

“I know y-you didn’t.” Morty pitied him, nonetheless. “But, Rick...when’s the last time you ate?”

“I had a candy bar on the way to the police station.”

“Are you lying to me right now?”

“The wrapper’s in the glove box.”

Morty opened the glove compartment as they pulled into the parking lot of the bargain hotel where Morty and the other roadies had been staying. Inside, he found not one but  _ two _ candy bar wrappers. Rick was frowning at him, arms crossed over his chest.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

“Not really,” said Morty. “You need to eat something besides pure sugar, Rick. You’re gonna--you’re gonna  _ die. _ It’s scary, Rick. You’re scaring me.”

“I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

“That doesn’t mean I want you to  _ die _ .”

“Yeah, well. You don’t get a vote here.” They pulled to a stop in the parking lot. Rick immediately turned the car off. 

“Don’t t-talk like that,” Morty shouted, frustrated. He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “That’s way too sad. What if this is...what if this is the last time we ever…”

“I thought you’d said everything you want to say to me, Morty.”

“Fuck you, Rick.” He could feel himself starting to cry, and hastily pulled at the door handle, desperate to escape before the tears began to fall in earnest.. “If y-y-you want to destroy yourself, be my guest! But I won’t stick around to watch it!”

Morty stumbled into the parking lot, righted himself, and then took off at a blind pelt for the building. He didn’t stop until he was inside his room, leaning against the door and breathing hard.

Parf sat up in his bed, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Morty? What happened to you? You disappeared earlier.” A ripple went through the blobby alien’s face. “You smell like puke.”

“I puked,” Morty said, too drunk to figure out any other answer. 

The hotel room felt small. Claustrophobic. Morty moved through it in a trance. Parf turned on his bedside lamp, and the mundanity of Morty’s surroundings intensified. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. It was all too real, and he couldn’t take that anymore. He crossed to his side of the room and began to pack his suitcase.

“What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night--I want to go back to sleep. You can clean up in the morning,” Parf complained.

“I’m running away,” Morty said. It felt good to acknowledge it, so he went on. “I’ve had enough of Rick’s bullshit, and this is the only way to get away from it.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Probably.” He did up the zipper of his bag and extended the handle, preparing to blow away into the night and ride the wind like dandelion fluff. 

“Wait,” said Parf. He climbed out of bed and grabbed his wallet. With a quiet rustle he pulled a handful of bills out and held them out to Morty.

“I can’t,” Morty said, making a warding-off gesture.

“C’mon. I can’t let you just go without helping at least a little. It’s not much, but I want you to have it.”

Morty wiped his face on his arm, frustratedly scrubbing away tears. He took the sheaf of bills. “Thanks. And...say goodbye to Mehva for me.”

“She’s gonna be sad. Are you sure about this?”

“I am. But if I stay any longer I’m gonna change my mind, so I really have to go.”

“Alright.” Parf nodded solemnly. “Good luck out there, man.”

Morty returned his nod. He set his jaw and let himself out of the hotel room. A look over the parking lot reassured him that the work van was gone, so he wheeled his suitcase down the walkway. He talked to himself over and over again, telling himself that it was going to be alright, that this was for the best. He didn’t need Rick. He didn’t need anyone. So what if he had no plan? So what if he was scared? He had survived on the Citadel, and he would survive here, too. He was better off alone. And Rick would be better off, too. Not that he cared.

The elevator dinged, interrupting his thoughts, and he crossed the lobby into the cool predawn air. It smelled of smoke and grit. The new smell of home.

“I fucking knew it.”

Morty turned to his right in utter horror at the sound of the familiar voice. Rick flicked the butt of his cigarette onto the ground.

“You really are an idiot,” he said.

***

Rick was a man who trusted his gut. He also trusted his eyes, and he had seen the runaway glint in Morty’s. So he drove the van two blocks away, parked, and came back to keep an eye out. 

He hated that he was right.

“This is none of your business,” Morty said, backing away from him. 

Rick hated the fear in Morty’s expression. It made him feel like his dad. He wondered vaguely if his father had ever felt this way about seeing his son’s fear, or if he had just taken sadistic pleasure in it. 

“Like hell it isn’t.  _ I _ brought you here.  _ I’m _ responsible for you. If you really thought for one minute that I’d just let you fuck off into the night without tearing apart the city to find you, you’re a bigger moron than I thought you were!”

“You don’t give a shit about me! Which--” Morty spluttered, stuttered, faltered. “That’s fine! I don’t need you to! I just wish you w-w-w-would admit it!”

“Morty,” Rick said sharply. “You really wanna do this  _ here?” _

Morty looked around, seemingly only now realizing where they were. Rick snatched Morty’s suitcase away from him and started across the parking lot, rolling it behind him. For a few heart wrenching moments he thought that Morty was just going to watch him walk away with it. His heart dropped from his throat back into his chest when he heard hurrying footsteps behind him.

“That’s mine,” Morty complained.

“No shit.”

“Give it back!”

“Nope.”

Morty groaned with obvious frustration. Rick tried to stay cool as they walked briskly together back to the van.

“Where are we going? Rick? C’mon!”

Rick just opened the back of the van and shoved the suitcase inside. He shrugged Morty off when he tried to go in after it.

“You’re riding in the cab,” Rick told him.

“Who s-said I was going  _ anywhere _ with you?”

“Morty, you can either go be homeless in puke-soaked jeans, or you can come back to my nice hotel with me, get cleaned up, and give your stupid choices some actual thought.”

Morty hesitated. 

“Just to get cleaned up,” Morty said. Rick let him save face, even though both of them knew who had won.

“Just to get cleaned up. Now get in.”

It was only a few miles from Morty’s hotel to Rick’s luxury accommodations. Morty didn’t want to talk, so Rick let him stew in silence. This was going to be a delicate operation. Morty was pigheaded at the best of times, and now he was drunk off his ass. It wouldn’t take much to send him flying right back to his destructive decisions. In silence, Rick parked the van, retrieved Morty’s luggage from the back, and headed upstairs.

The hotel room was huge, and surprisingly neat, considering that this was the second night that Rick had stayed here. The decor was done tastefully in navy and pewter grey, crisp and clean even under the soft light of the nightstand lamp. The window that looked out on the city was massive and round and filled with water and shining silver fish. The bed was unmade, and the couch cushions had been arranged in a circle on the floor around an ashtray full of cigarette butts and the roach ends of a few joints. Rick noticed that his guest had left her bra behind. He just hoped Morty wouldn’t look under the bed and see it. He set Morty’s suitcase on the ground and unzipped it.

“Don’t go through my stuff,” Morty whined. He fluttered around Rick like a hummingbird hovering around a flower.

“What, afraid I’ll look through your underwear? I  _ bought _ your underwear.”

“You don’t have to be a-a-a dick about it.”

Rick sighed and reminded himself that he was supposed to be careful, that Morty was a flight risk.. “You’re right. Look, why don’t you change clothes? I’ll rinse off your jeans and we can get them washed tomorrow.”

Morty looked like he wanted to argue, but he must have decided he wanted to be out of his soiled pants even more, because he nodded once. “Turn around,” he instructed Rick, who rolled his eyes but obeyed.

Facing the corner of the room, Rick took a gamble that Morty might be more receptive when he knew that he wasn’t being watched. “You know, Morty, I’ve been out on my ear on the street more than once. Dad used to kick me out sometimes, and I ran away a few times, too. You know the only way I figured out to get food and shelter out there, with no home base to start from and no marketable skills?”

“I’m not sure I want to hear this, Rick.”

“Sucking cock, Morty. That’s what the streets do to you, ok? That’s what I don’t want for you.”

“Jesus Christ. Rick, h-h-h-h-how can you stand there and tell me you  _ prostituted yourself  _ in the same tone I’d use to complain about a stubbed toe?” 

“My life has been  _ real _ fucked up,” Rick said with a shrug.

Morty’s balled up, soiled jeans hit Rick squarely in the back. “You’re not making it easy to hate you.”

“Good.” 

Rick was relieved when he turned around to see Morty in his yellow flannel sleep pants, with his shoes lined up neatly beside his suitcase. He wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Gratitude to the universe at large shuddered through Rick.

“Lay down,” he said gently. “I’ll be right back.”

Morty chewed on his lip. “Even if I go to the couch, you’re just g-gonna make me take the bed, aren’t you?”

“Yup. So you might as well just save us both some time.”

Morty sighed and shuffled over to the massive bed as Rick took his discarded jeans to the bathroom. He hummed to himself as he rinsed them off. He zipped up the toiletries bag where he kept his heroin and needles and tucked it into his suitcase on his way back to Morty’s side. He didn’t know what to do with him now that he had him, but he was just happy to have gotten this far. He grabbed a bottle of water from the minibar and knelt down beside the low bed. He smiled at Morty as he handed the beverage over.

“Drink it slowly,” he said. Morty sat up halfway, and Rick fluffed the pillows behind him so that he could be propped up enough to drink.

“I know,” Morty groused. “I’m usually on the  _ other _ end of this, you know.”

Morty watched Rick out of the corner of his eye as he drank the water. He finished half of it in one go, and then allowed Rick to take the bottle and put it on the nightstand. Morty was visibly run ragged. His face was drooping, his eyes rimmed with red. Rick reached out and tucked a stray curl behind his ear. Morty didn’t stop him, he just hung his head and stared down at his empty hands.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For the water. For not letting me run away. You were right--it was s-stupid.”

“You’re not like I was, Morty. You have things here. Good things.”

“I know. It’s--you just make me so  _ angry.” _

“You’re not the first person who’s told me that,” Rick said, hoping that his joking tone would make Morty smile. He didn’t expect the smile to look so sad.

Morty rolled onto his side and lay looking at Rick, their faces conspiratorially close. “I hate watching you put yourself through all this shit.”

“Why?” Rick asked. His mouth felt so dry. In his heart, he begged Morty to give him a reason to stop.

“You know w-w-why.” Morty barely breathed the words into existence.

Rick felt hot and cold, his chest expanding infinitely into spacetime as he watched thoughts and feelings flicker in Morty’s amber eyes.

“Why?” he asked again.

Morty suddenly grabbed him by the shirtfront and pulled him closer. Rick put his hand flat against Morty’s chest and stopped them a mere inch apart. He could feel Morty’s warm, humid breath against his lips. He trembled and nearly whimpered.

“Rick?”

“You’re drunk,” Rick said regretfully. “I’m not gonna take advantage of you, Morty. If you still want to after you get some sleep, then I’ll keep you in bed for a week.”

Morty turned pink and mumbled something Rick couldn’t quite make out. Rick smiled and redirected his lips to Morty’s forehead, placing a lingering kiss there.

“What was that?”

“The b-busses leave tomorrow night.”

“Fuck the bus. I have a portal gun.”

“I thought the bus was  _ your _ idea, and you didn’t want to use the portal gun.”

“Now I have a good reason to.”

“But...but if we stay behind t-t-together then  _ everyone is going to know.” _

“Good. I want them to.” Rick’s heart swelled within him, and he stroked his fingertips across Morty’s cheek. “I was never ashamed of you, Morty. I--” He cut himself off with a shaking breath. “No. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, when you’re sober.”

“I want that lullaby,” Morty said. “The Spanish one.”

Rick helped him pull the blankets up to his chin. He flicked off the lamp and smiled as the boy closed his eyes. 

“Arrorro mi niño,” Rick crooned. “Arrorro mi sol…”

Rick stayed up for the rest of the morning, sitting on the couch. He smoked through a pack of cigarettes and two bowls of his good weed, but no matter what he did he was still jittery. He wanted to shoot up, but he didn’t want to get  _ caught _ shooting up, so he held himself back until he was itching all over and couldn’t take the boredom anymore. With a little bit of H in him, his mind slowed to a manageable sprint. Mentally, he finished designing the new brand of cyber eye he’d been putting off for months. He toyed around with a new idea for a symphony. By noon, he couldn’t take it anymore. Plus, he was out of cigarettes. He got up and snatched up his keys and wallet. A quick trip to the bodega they’d passed the night before wouldn’t hurt. He’d buy breakfast--for  _ both _ of them. He smiled as he walked out into the sunshine. Morty was going to be so proud of him.

But when he came back, a fresh cigarette in his lips and a bag of breakfast sandwiches under his arm, Morty was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Brief mention of past abuse and corrective rape.
> 
> 1 Stupid, privileged white boy.


	8. They Know You're Scared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Friendly reminder to keep checking the tags 'cause I'm still updating them as I write. 
> 
> Spoilery Content Warning in the end notes; click below to jump down to them if you think you might be affected.

Morty awoke to the sound of the hotel room door closing. He sat up blearily and wiped the drool off of his chin. He spent a dizzy few moments utterly disoriented until remembrance crashed into him like bracing cold ocean wave. He touched the center of his forehead where Rick had kissed him, smiling bashfully at the memory. The room smelled of smoke, but the older man was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he had gone to tell the band that he and Morty were going to hang back for a few days.

Morty finished off the bottle of water and, yawning, padded to the bathroom with a bundle of fresh clothes in hand. He wanted to be dressed in something other than pajamas when Rick came back to  _ take his virginity _ and  _ oh fuck _ , that was a terrifying thought. Rick probably fucked like a hurricane. Morty wasn’t sure if he’d survive. He took a piss and brushed his teeth with toothpaste and his finger, reticent to use Rick’s toothbrush. The sight of a discarded syringe in the trash made him feel a bit melancholy, but he was determined not to give in to sadness. Or fear. When Rick came back, Morty was going to tell him how he felt, and they were finally going to kiss and everything was going to be beautiful.

Rick had apparently set aside Morty’s phone and wallet on the sink counter when he had rinsed off Morty’s jeans the night before, and Morty had just turned on the screen to check the battery when the sound of the door spread a big smile across his face. Phone in hand, he walked out of the bathroom. 

“Rick,” he said brightly, “Last night, what I wanted to say--”

But it wasn’t Rick standing in the doorway.

Morty had an ice cold feeling in his guts at the first sight of the two gecko-like aliens. In a moment of prescient panic, Morty thumbed open the voice note recording app on his phone.

“That him?” the taller gecko asked the shorter.

“No, that’s not him, dumbass,” said the second, flicking his friend on the nose. “Did you even  _ look _ at the picture Harv sent us?”

“‘Course I did,” the first complained. “They must be the same species, at least. Looks exactly the same to me.”

Morty jumped back when each of the aliens pulled guns out of their jackets. 

“Alright, first thing’s first,” said the shorter creature. “Put the phone down. Where’s Rick?”

Morty dropped his phone onto the bed with the voice recorder still running. “I-I-I-I don’t know where R-Rick is,” he stammered. It was a good thing that he had just gone or else he would have pissed his pants. “Oh g-g-god, don’t shoot me.”

“Schlem, man, the window is supposed to be five minutes. We can’t wait around for him to get back.”

Schlem, apparently, narrowed his eyes in deep thought. “We’re gonna have to kill the kid and come back for Rick later.”

‘No!” Morty burst out before he could stop himself. Schlem smirked at him. Morty kept talking, his brain never catching up to his mouth. “R-R-Rick’s leaving t-today! If-f-f-f-f you kill me now, y-you’ll never see him a-a-a-a-again! Take me w-with you. H-H-He’ll come looking fo-for me.”

“Sounds smart, Schlem.”

“Do I have to do all your thinking for you, Pish? How do we know he’s telling the truth? He’s probably just a groupie.”

“They’re the same species, though. Have you ever hearda’ Rick carryin’ on with one of his own species? Besides, time’s tickin’, here. We’re not gonna get another shot at Rick today, and even if he skips town without the kid, then at least we got somethin’ a’ his to sell and recoup the boss’s cash.”

Schlem blinked at his accomplice. “That’s about the smartest thing you ever said. Ok, kid, get over here.”

Morty thought his legs were going to give out, but somehow he made it over to his kidnappers. Schlem patted him down and tossed his wallet on the floor after taking all the cash out, and Pish put his arm over Morty’s shoulders, discreetly holding his gun to Morty’s side.

“Alright, kid. You keep movin’, you keep your mouth shut, you make it outta this building alive. You make a peep and the shooting starts.”

Morty nodded dumbly. He sucked down huge swallows of air. Color faded in and out of the world around him as black spots gathered at the edge of his vision.

“I-I-I-I’m g-g-g-gonna f-faint,” he sobbed.

“Not if you want to live. Keep it together,” said Schlem. “Ok, everybody ready? Let’s go.”

***

_ Ok, don’t panic _ , Rick told himself. Morty was probably just taking a shit or something. Yeah. Rick was starting to chastise himself for jumping to conclusions when he looked down and noticed Morty’s wallet on the floor in front of him. Fear clenched his guts and twisted. Had he run away after all? Had he just been waiting for Rick to leave the room so he could fuck off? But no--Morty’s suitcase was still here. He wouldn’t have left without it...right? Rick put the food down on the table and made his way toward the bathroom.

“Morty?” he called, tapping on the door. “Are you in there?”

When only silence answered him, Rick tried the handle. Sure enough, Morty wasn’t there. Rick went back into the bedroom and sat down heavily on the bed. His hand brushed against something hard--Morty’s cell phone. There was no way that Morty had left without it. The audio notes app was running. With mounting trepidation, Rick stopped the recording and rewound it to the beginning.

‘ _ Rick, last night what I wanted to say--’ _

_ ‘That him?’ _

Rick listened to the entire recording once, then again. Fury and fear were mounting in him, rolling over and over each other in a sickening pattern of hot and cold. It took him an embarrassingly long time to figure out where he recognized those voices from. Once he managed to clear his mind, he realized that the accent was distinctly Ventruvian, and he only knew one Ventruvian on this planet: a big name drug dealer named Moximo. Last time he was in this city, Rick had flashed his Rolex to impress and keep himself in drugs for a week on credit and then fucked off without paying. He probably owed the guy a couple thousand in the local currency, considering the size of the parties he’d thrown. This was all his fault.

He took out his phone as he paced up and down the room. He had to calm down. He had to think, to do the right things in the right order. Morty was in danger of being trafficked offworld. If that happened, Rick had no idea how he would find him. It was going to be hard enough as things stood. First things first, though. He dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. While it was ringing, he grabbed one of the breakfast sandwiches and began stuffing his face with it. He was nauseous already, but he was going to need his strength to rescue Morty.

_ “Hello?”  _ Squanchy sounded weary. Rick was just glad he had picked up.

Rick swallowed a few mouthfuls of juice. “Squanch. I’m not gonna be on the bus today. Something came up that I have to take care of here.”

Squanchy sighed wearily.  _ “What is it this time, Rick?” _

Rick hesitated, calculating. “You gotta promise not to call the cops.”

_ “When have you ever known me to call the cops, compa? But you gotta give me something; you’re makin’ me kind of worried over here.” _

“Remember Moximo? The dealer I pulled a fast one on last time we were here? His guys came to my room and they took Morty.” Rick’s voice was thick with emotion; it was humiliating. He didn’t like crying in front of anyone, not even Squanchy. Sometimes he did it when he was fucked up, but never sober.

_ “You sure you don’t want the cops, man?” _ Squanchy was a real friend. He knew better than to dig.

“Too slow. Plus, if Moximo’s guys see them coming, they might kill Morty and bail.” Rick tipped the rest of his juice down his throat. “Do you have a guy in this city?”

_ “Yeah. He’s a smalltimer. If you can convince him you’ll come out on squanch I’m sure he’d  _ **_love_ ** _ to be ‘the guy who took out Moximo.’” _

“Get me in touch with him?”

_ “Yeah. And Rick? Be careful. I know you’re a force of nature and everything, but you’re not a god.” _

“I am today. I’ll text you when Morty’s safe.”

Rick hung up the phone and headed right back out the door.

  
  


***

  
  


Morty cried the whole way to the villa on the edge of town. Schlem and Pish both tried to shut him up, but every insult and threat only made him cry harder. The sensation of complete and utter fear reminded him of times with his grandfather. It reminded him of the very first adventure when he knew without a shred of doubt that his life was in danger, and the cold, heartrending sensation of taking cover under enemy fire. It reminded him of the day his grandfather had abandoned him on the Citadel, of looking around and finding himself untethered from everything he had ever known. Morty had survived danger and despair before, but apparently that hadn’t made it any easier to face. He wished he were brave. He wished he weren’t such a  _ Morty. _

“Outta the car,” Schlem said, hustling Morty out at the top of a long driveway.

The villa loomed over the street, set far back atop a sharply slanting hill. It was a good choice, as far as fortresses went. They were far from any other residence, and the building commanded a broad view of the surrounding area. It would be almost impossible to sneak in. Morty felt his hopes sinking even further, fading like melting snow in the deep places inside of him. He marched dumbly to the door, walking between Pish and Schlem. They didn’t even bother with their guns. All three of them knew that there would be no escape for Morty now.

“You gotta tell him,” Pish hissed to Schlem. “C’mon man. I know it was my idea, but you talk way better than me.”

They had been arguing the whole way over about which one of them was going to tell ‘the boss’ that not only was Rick Sanchez not dead, but that they’d shown up with a witness in tow.

“Fucking fine,” Schlem said, finally relenting. He opened the front door of the villa and they were waved inside by two armed guards.

They wound their way through the gaudy ground floor to a broad, clean solar at the back of the house. Another gecko creature, this one wearing a white suit, was sitting at a small table playing a chesslike game on hologram. He tapped his chin as he considered his next move, but stopped when he looked up and saw his men entering the room with Morty between them.

“What’s this, boys?” he asked, gesturing. He had a high voice, but his tone was solid and commanding.

“This here is a little bit of collateral we took from Rick Sanchez,” Schlem said. “Sanchez wasn’t in his room when we got there, but we got the next thing--stole his little honey out from under his nose.”

“We figure he’s worth a couple thou’ on the open market,” Pish added nervously.

Moximo’s eyes traveled up and down Morty’s body appraisingly. “Bring him over here,” he said.

Pish nudged Morty forward. What little courage Morty had left was failing him, and he stumbled on his way across the room. Tears scratched his eyes like razorblades. Funny. He had thought they would have run dry by now.

“Shut up,” Moximo said sharply. “Open your mouth.”

Morty struggled to comply. His lip was quivering. Irritably, Moximo grabbed Morty’s tense jaw and wrenched his mouth open. 

“We’ll have to pull the sharp ones. He looks like a biter,” the boss assessed. “I’ll see if the Broker has an opening to come look him over. Good work, boys. This way I get my money back and Sanchez has to live with the hurt. Take him to the pit for now.”

Morty whimpered and stepped back. He hugged his arms around himself, trying to quell his trembling. Pish grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pushed him out of the room the way that he had come.

The pit turned out to be a sub basement. They went down two flights of steep stairs to a dark hallway where water dripped down the stone walls. There was a hot, chemical scent in the dank air. To their left and right were thick metal doors with massive locks. Morty thought he heard moaning behind one as they passed. He felt faint again.

Schlem used a keycard to unlock the door at the very end of the hallway, and Pish shoved Morty inside. It was dark, a single dim bulb struggling to illuminate the space. There was no furniture, but against the far wall a filthy mattress lay on the floor. It smelled rancid and Morty suspected that the stains he saw on the ratty fabric was a combination of feces and blood. This was a room to die in.

“Please,” he whimpered, overcome. “I-I-I-I-I don’t want to die down here. R-Rick will--he’ll pay! He’ll p-p-p-pay to get me back!”

“Boss won’t go for that,” Schlem said. “Sanchez needs to learn a lesson. Sit down and hold your wrists out. And don’t even think about biting or kicking. Pish will kneecap you.”

Pish took out his gun and nodded solemnly. Morty believed them. He sat down on the mattress with his back against the wall and held out his arms. Schlem flicked a switch by the door and two ports in the wall slid open, allowing two chains with shackles on the ends to lower down towards Morty. Schlem clapped the manacles around Morty’s wrists and tested their fit. Morty sat still, playing the good prisoner, while he breathed in hiccuping sobs. 

“Sweet dreams,” Pish snickered as he and Schlem left the room. He flicked the lightswitch, and when the door closed Morty was left alone in the dark. 

  
  


***

  
  


Rick was frustrated beyond all belief. He had spent a day and a half hopping from smalltime dealer to smalltime dealer, from meeting to meeting in studio apartments and refuse-strewn alleys just trying to find out where Morty might have been taken. None of them wanted to rat out Moximo, afraid of retribution. Every single one flat out said that they thought Rick was going to end up captured and tortured until he ratted, and they’d rather live in the gangster’s shadow than wind up dead. Rick tried everything he could think of, from flashing his cash to cracking one or two skulls, but it didn’t seem to matter. No one was talking.

He was getting ready to head back to the hotel for a half hour’s nap and a rethink when his phone went off. A private number had sent him a text message with an address on the south side of the city. He hurried back to his rental car.

The south side was a labyrinthine slum, but the address from the text was for one of the nicer buildings here, a freestanding brick house with a crumbling walkway and a creaking steel fence. Rick hurried up to the front door and pounded on the weathered wood. He didn’t like standing out here. Coming here was a gamble, especially after showing off his wealth to half of the scum in the city and showing up in a brand new car. The longer he stood on the porch, the more certain he became that this was a trap. He was just about to turn tail and run when the door opened. An Obscrat, a slimy blue alien with long eyestalks, beckoned him inside. He hurried through the doorway.

On a ratty, floral patterned couch a second Obscrat sat, counting money. He lifted one eyestalk to look at Rick and then looked back down at his cash. 

“Rick Sanchez?”

“You texted me.”

“Yeah. You’re pretty easy to find. Might wanna fix that.”

“You gonna tell me what this is about?”

“You’re looking for Moximo’s hidey hole. I know where it is.”

“You and half the city. If you’re gonna tell me, tell me. If not, then you’re wasting my precious time.”

“No wonder you haven’t been making friends today. You catch more flies with honey.”

Rick reached into his pocket. He felt the aliens both tense. “Chill. It’s just a cigarette. You want one?”

“I don’t smoke. That shit’ll kill you,” said the Obscrat on the couch.

“So,” Rick said, lighting his cigarette, “what kind of ‘honey’ are you after? Money?”

“Money wouldn’t hurt. But I’m looking at the bigger picture, here. Moximo’s holding all the rest of us down. Half of the dealers in this city belong to him, and the rest of us are competing over scraps. I’m thinking it’s time for a power vacuum. With Moximo gone, we’ll all get a bigger piece of the pie.”

“That’s good thinking. Point me in the right direction and I’ll give you Moximo’s head on a spike.” He took a deep, shaky drag.

“He’s in a villa on the north side of the city. 1818 Vineland Place. You’re gonna have to find a way in on your own--there’s no sneaking up on the place, from what I hear.”

“I’ve got that covered, if I can trust your info.”

“Bit late to change your mind about that. If I wanted you dead you’d be dead right now.”

“So why are you willing to work with me when no one else was?”

“Because I heard The Broker is pricing your boyfriend today, and you’re the type of crazy motherfucker who’d never let that go unpunished.”

“Fuck,” Rick breathed. He had heard of The Broker--an agent of the galactic black market who assessed trafficking victims and negotiated the sale of sentient lifeforms. He was one of the most feared and hated men alive. And he was coming for Morty. Rick took the cash out of his wallet and dropped it on the floor. “Consider that a tip.” He pushed past the Obscrat and out the door to his car.

All the way through the city, Rick weaved in and out of traffic, driving like a madman. He was Morty’s only hope. 

  
  


***

  
  


Morty didn’t know how long he had been sitting alone in the dark. It was cold down here, and his muscles were exhausted from shivering. Twice someone had come down with water for him, and a bucket for him to piss into. Otherwise he had nothing but his own thoughts, which were slowly veering into utter madness. He slipped in and out of sleep, unable to stop his melancholy thoughts from running circles in the darkness around him.

The scent of damp and filth reminded me of the first apartment where he’d squatted in Mortytown, before his brief stay at the Morty Academy. His grandfather had left him at the Creepy Morty, claiming he needed to take a shit after a successful arms deal and portaling his way out of the bathroom presumably back to their home in 616-B. Big Morty had offered him a job immediately in a way that made Morty suspect that the weapons hadn’t been the real offer on the table, and he had run away as fast as he could, tearing down alleyways in Mortytown until he found an abandoned house where several other Mortys were squatting. They had taken him in and shown him the ropes, even risking themselves to take him to the Morty Lost and Found where he had confirmed what he suspected from the beginning--Rick 616-B hadn’t come back to look for him. He had been abandoned. After that, he had promised himself he would never cry over another Rick ever again.

Yet here he was, sobbing his eyes out in the dark, cupping his hands around the spark of hope in his heart that Rick G-013 would come to save him. He had so many regrets, and his thoughts lingered on recent developments. He wished he had never overreacted after that party. He wished he had let Rick kiss him instead of running away. Sitting by himself in here he kept playing it over and over, studying every detail of Rick’s startled face in his memory. It wasn’t Rick’s fault that Morty had misinterpreted him. Part of Morty was still back in the slums, looking for any reason to mistrust a Rick. He was so stupid.

The door clanked open and Morty turned his face down into the filthy mattress to shield his eyes from the light. He squeezed his eyes shut tight as he was manhandled into a sitting position. His manacles were unhooked from the chains on the wall and locked together behind his back, and then he was hauled to his feet and sent sprawling out of the room. He cracked his eyes open, squinting into the hallway. He didn’t like this at all.

“Where are we going?” he croaked. He licked cracked lips with a clay tongue and tried again. “Where are we g-g-going?”

“Broker’s here to price you,” his captor said. He grabbed Morty by the upper arm and marched him down the hallway.

“P-P-Price me? What d-does that m-m-m-m-mean?”

His captor snorted. “What’s it sound like?”

They stopped in front of another door and Morty was quickly hustled inside. This room was nothing like the one where Morty had been kept. In fact, it looked like a normal hotel room, decorated in black, white, and gold. It wasn’t especially tasteful, but it was clean. Morty felt even more filthy in this context. He wished they had kept him here the whole time. At least then he wouldn’t reek. He was instructed to sit down on the bed, which he almost refused to do out of blind panic. In the end, though, he didn’t know what else to do and obeyed. The captor tilted a bottle of water to his lips and he drank gratefully.

“See that?” the captor said, pointing to a corner of the ceiling, “we’re gonna be watching you through  _ that _ camera the whole time. You kick, you bite, you do  _ anything _ to The Broker and we’ll have no choice but to put you down, capisce?”

Morty nodded. He didn’t trust his voice, and he didn’t want to start crying again.

“Just sit still and wait.”

Morty did just that. His shoulders began to ache a bit from his hands being clasped behind his back. His hope was flagging fast. How long had he been in that dark room? He believed with all his heart that Rick would be looking for him, but that didn’t mean he would necessarily  _ find _ him. He had a feeling he didn’t have much longer before he was shipped away from the city, and if that happened Rick might  _ never _ find him. Not even his body. He glanced up at the camera. Maybe he should bite The Broker. Maybe being shot would be a better fate than being sold.

The door opened, and a green alien in a pinstripe suit and a fedora stepped inside. He was leaning on a shiny black cane.

“Don’t you look fetching,” purred the man. He hung his hat on a hook on the back of the door. “Do you know why I’m here?”

Morty nodded mutely, his eyes locked on The Broker’s face. The man’s smile was sharp and very white.

“Why am I here?” The Broker asked, his voice stern yet patient.

“To p-price me,” Morty said. He began to tremble all over.

“Very good. And from now on, when I ask you a question you will answer it, won’t you?”

“Y-Y-Y-Yes,” Morty sobbed.

The Broker tutted at him. “Now, now. There’s no need to cry.” He twisted the topper of his cane and withdrew a baton from within it. A press of a button and an arc of electricity jolted to life at the end of it. “We haven’t even begun yet.”

  
  


***

  
  


Rick parked the car and gazed up the hill to the villa. He ran calculations in his head--the approximate height of the hill and horizontal distance to the villa, based on the length of the shadows at sunset compared to the average height of a three story mansion. He twisted the knob of his portal gun, laying in coordinates. He stepped through a portal and into a large foyer. His heart was cold and hard as steel as he lifted the gun right out of a startled Ventruvian’s hand and shot him in the face with it. His buddy, the other door guard, didn’t even have time to draw his weapon before Rick had him staring down the barrel.

“Where’s your boss?” Rick asked, his voice sharp as ice.

“Back of the house,” the guard stammered. He took half a step back before Rick blew his brains out, dispassionately watching them spatter across the wall.

Rick stopped only long enough to stuff the second dead guard’s gun in the waistband of his jeans and pocket an extra clip from each of them. By then, two more were spilling down the winding stairs from the second floor. Rick picked them both off with a sharpshooter’s accuracy. Satisfied with his work, he moved further into the house. He found the rest of the ground floor empty until he got to the backmost room, a wide, clear space with resonant acoustics that amplified the sound of his shoes on the marble floor. A Ventruvian man was standing against the back wall, fumbling at the lock on the window. A woman, presumably his wife, was standing close to his shoulder. She tugged on his suit jacket as Rick walked into the room. Two large dogs began to bark, edging towards him with teeth bared. Rick put a bullet down each of their throats. The woman let out a screaming sob as canine blood spread across the floor in a widening puddle.

“Moximo,” Rick said expansively. A reptilian smile settled on his face. “You have something of mine.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Sanchez,” the gangster said, flattening himself against the window.

Rick raised his gun and shot the woman in the thigh. She crumpled to the floor like a jenga tower, wailing and clutching at her leg as thick dark blood poured between her fingers.

“Try again,” said Rick. “Where’s Morty?”

Moximo held up his hands in a disarming gesture. “Ok, ok! That’s far enough. We’re both reasonable men; we can work this out. Morty’s still in the villa. You two can go home, and let bygones be bygones, yeah? He’s right downstairs right now. We can go get him together.”

“Guess again. I want you to watch this, Moximo, and ask yourself how ‘reasonable’ I am.”

The report of the gun rang out again as Rick shot the screaming woman straight through the heart. Moximo cried out and dove for her, but it was too late. She was dead before the gangster’s arms even closed around her. Tears began to pour from his wide, round eyes.

“Arabella,” Moximo sobbed.

Rick pulled up a chair, letting it scrape noisily across the floor. He sat down in front of Moximo, his thighs spread wide, and he leaned forward casually with his elbows resting on his knees.

“You,” he said, nudging the gangster’s face with the barrel of his gun, “fucked up. Your mistake was assuming that I am a ‘reasonable man,’ Moximo. ‘Cause I’m not. I’m  _ fucking crazy. _ And now you’re gonna die  _ real _ slow, ‘cause you took something of mine.”

Moximo made a grab for the gun, but Rick pulled it away from him easily. He aimed low and put a bullet through Moximo’s foot. The gangster screamed, curling in on himself. Rick watched him with vague interest. This wasn’t his first cold-blooded murder, but he hadn’t felt so much satisfaction from hurting someone since the day he had killed tio Luis. Moximo was sobbing, saliva dribbling from his mouth as he clutched at his ankle. Rick liked the sight so much that he blew open Moximo’s other foot.

“Your pain sounds pretty good right now, Moximo. It’s kinda making my dick hard.”

“Fuck you,” Moximo sobbed.

“You tried to,” Rick said, his voice even and flat. “And this is what you get. You reap what you sow, bitch.”

The gangster’s sobs turned to laughter, the very voice of deep madness. “I  _ tried to? _ No, Sanchez.  _ I did. _ Your precious pet is with The Broker right now. What do you think he’s done to him while you were up here playing around with me?”

Rick narrowed his eyes. He pressed the barrel of his gun against Moximo’s wrist and pulled the trigger. “I promised you were gonna die slow,” he growled, “and I always keep my promises. Enjoy bleeding out, bitch.” 

He wiped splattered blood off of his face and rifled Moximo’s pockets until he found a ring of keys and keycards. Fear propelled him through the house. Rick was a marksman any day, but the shots he pulled off as guards came out of doors and down stairs around him were truly inspired. No one could stand against him.

Slapping a full clip into his pistol as he walked down to the sub basement. There was one guard in the dank hallway, and apparently he hadn’t been expecting trouble, because Rick picked him off easily before he even raised his rifle. Rick skipped past the first few doors, heading for the one that the guard was lying dead in front of. He had to try five keycards before he found the one that opened the door. His heart trembling within him, Rick let himself inside. 

Morty was laying on his back on a bed in the middle of a black room. Rick saw the moment that Morty realized who had entered, the brightening of his teary face. They fell into one another’s eyes so deeply that Rick didn’t even notice the Ombrian man coming at him from the side until he was jabbed with a cattle prod. He grunted and curled forward, dropping his gun. It slid across the floor and under the bed.

Rick’s ears rang with a glassy, echoing sound that nearly blocked out Morty’s voice as he shouted his name over and over. The cattle prod bit into Rick’s side again. He jerked on his feet, stumbled, and fell to his knees.

“It’s impolite to interrupt people,” said the green man, crossing in front of Rick. Drool trickled down Rick’s chin. He swayed. The end of a cane tilted Rick’s head back, turned his face from side to side. “If you could be broken you’d fetch a pretty penny.”

Rick’s gaze flicked to the side. Morty was lying on his side, rocking back and forth--he seemed to be struggling to get his shackled hands from behind him to his front. Rick felt like he was forgetting something important. He had almost thought of it when another jolt of electricity hit him full in the chest, knocking the breath out of him.

“It’s  _ also _ impolite to ignore someone who is speaking to you,” The Broker tutted. He stepped between Rick and Morty, cutting off their line of sight to one another. “Did you come to rescue him? How gallant.”

“Gonna...kill you,” Rick panted. That was about as much of a thought as he could muster. His brain felt liquid inside his skull. 

“I rather think not. You’re at a bit of a disadvantage here. Empty-handed, as it were.”

Empty handed. Empty handed? Rick  _ was _ empty handed, but… He reached behind himself to where the second pistol was still tucked in the back of his pants, finally realizing what he’d been trying to think of this whole time. In seeming slow motion he raised it. His finger began to squeeze the trigger, and…

The Broker knocked the weapon right out of his hand and it, too, went skittering away across the floor.  _ No. _ Rick’s heartbeat became erratic at the sight of The Broker’s scowl. The next jab of the cattle prod hit him in the side of the neck. Rick tumbled to his side on the floor, twitching. He heard Morty scream his name. He pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to open up and speak, but his body was no longer his to control. 

“Oh, I am going to  _ enjoy _ breaking you,” said The Broker. He placed the toe of his boot on Rick’s cheek and rolled his weight forward, pressing Rick’s head down into the floor. “I always--”

A single gunshot rang out, deafening in the small room. The Broker looked down at his chest, where a fountain of blood was now pouring down. He staggered backwards two steps and fell onto his ass on the hard floor. Rick watched him slowly realize that he was dying.

“Rick!” cried Morty, dropping to his knees beside him. He let the gun fall from his hands, forgotten. He had managed to get his hands in front of himself, and they hovered over Rick’s chest, as if Morty were afraid that he would break him if he touched him.

“Morty.” Rick shuddered in relief. “I need...a minute…”

“You saved me.” Morty’s eyes were puffy and red already, but fresh tears trickled down his cheek.

Rick laughed weakly. “Not much of a rescue.”

“Don’t be s-s-s-stupid, Rick.”

“Did he...did he hurt you?” Rick wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but there was no alternative.

Morty shook his head, and Rick let out a deep breath. He let his eyes flutter closed and his body relax. 

“He w-was going to, but then w-w-w-w-we heard gunfire in the h-hallway, and…” Morty sniffled wetly. “You came, you r-really came in t-t-time.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, cariño. This was all my fault.” Rick curled in on himself, beginning to sob in great hiccuping gulps. It was the first time he had let himself cry since Morty had been taken. “I’m never leaving you again. I’m never leaving your side ever again.”

‘Don’t,” Morty said, his voice trembling. “Don’t. Please don’t. I’m...I’m scared, Rick. I-I-I-I-I’m still scared.”

It took Rick two tries to push himself up off the ground into a sitting position, and he gathered Morty in his arms and pulled him onto his lap. They rocked together, both sobbing.

“You’re safe now. You’re safe, cari ño. I won’t let anything bad happen to you now.”

When they had both quieted, Rick took out the ring of keys and flipped through them until he found one that matched the keyhole of Morty’s manacles. He felt a new flash of homicidal rage at the sight of Morty’s skin, reddened and bloodied from the cuffs.

“Come on, baby,” Rick said once he had found the strength within himself to get up. He pulled Morty to his feet. “It’s ok, shh, it’s safe,” he cooed, smoothing his thumb over Morty’s cheek when the boy began to hyperventilate. “Everyone upstairs is dead. The fucking  _ dogs _ are dead.”

“Are you s-s-s-sure?”

“I’m sure. But we’ll take the guns, ok?”

“Ok, Rick.”

“So brave,” Rick said warmly. He held Morty against his chest and breathed in the musky scent of his sweat. “Alright, mi vida. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Human Trafficking.
> 
> Thank you everyone for sticking with me so far!! I promise to indulge you now, starting next chapter!


	9. Cuando Empiezas a Bailar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations in the end notes. ^_^

Rick covered Morty’s eyes through the worst of the gore as they made it back out of the villa and down to the car, which Morty appreciated. He had just shot and killed a man, and that never sat well with him, even if it  _ was _ a matter of defense--of life and death for both himself and Rick. Watching The Broker collapse and die had deeply unsettled Morty. It set off a prickling heat in his chest. If it weren’t for Rick’s strong arm around his shoulders, Morty would have fallen apart by now.

Rick retrieved the portal gun from the rental car. First he shot one underneath the vehicle to abandon it in some unknown location. Then, with gentle hands, he helped Morty through a second portal to the hotel room he had been taken from. Rick emptied his pockets onto the table and, with insistent patience, pried the pistol from Morty’s hand and put it aside, as well.

“Come on, cariño,” he soothed him. Morty didn’t know what that word meant, but the warmth in Rick’s voice when he said it drew an answering honey-sweet feeling from Morty’s heart. 

Morty dumbly allowed himself to be swept into the bathroom. Rick went to the huge bathtub and started the water running, instructing Morty to sit on the edge and wait for it to fill up. He turned around, and Morty saw him startle at his own reflection. His face and hair were blood soaked, as well as his clothing. There were pink tear tracks down his cheeks, where hot tears had melted the sticky blood. 

“Fuck,” he said, turning his face back and forth. “Why didn’t you tell me I look like a haunted house reject? I must have scared you.”

Morty chewed his lips and twisted the hem of his shirt between nervous fingers. “I’ve never been so happy to see  _ anyone _ before. You d-don’t look  _ scary. _ You look like my h-h-hero.”

Rick, his motions suddenly stiff and jerky, started peeling off his filthy clothes, and he went to the luxurious freestanding shower in the other corner of the room. He didn’t even wait for the water to heat up before stepping under it, giving a hiss at the unpleasant cold. Morty felt nervous. Rick was naked and preoccupied. Morty wanted all of his attention. He wanted to feel safe. He waited as long as he could, listening to the patter of falling water.

“Rick? He called at last. His voice betrayed him, sounding small and timid. Mousey.

When Rick immediately popped out of the shower, Morty looked away. A hot blush spread over his face. He had seen Rick naked once already, but that was before he planned to hand the older man his virginity on a silver platter. 

“What is it?” Rick asked, alarmed.

“Come here,” Morty said, opening his arms.

Rick quickly shut off the shower and padded over to Morty, leaving a trail of water in his wake. He knelt down in front of the boy and let Morty put his arms around him, leaning over him and completely enfolding him.

“Shh, baby. I’m right here,” said Rick. “I’m not going anywhere.” He embraced Morty and pulled him even closer.

The running water filled the silence between them as Morty counted his racing heartbeats. Rick eventually untangled himself, though, and stopped the taps. He plunged his arm into the hot water to make sure it wouldn’t scald Morty.

“Ok, mi vida. It’s all ready for you.”

Morty wrung the front of his teeshirt between his hands. “I...can you t-turn around?”

Morty regretted his words when Rick’s warm expression faltered. But he didn’t say anything before moving down to sit on the floor, turning away from Morty. Piece by piece Morty shed his filthy clothes, feeling a little more like a human being with each garment that he threw to the ground. Even nude, though, he still reeked. He hated that Rick had to see him like that--to  _ smell _ him like that. It was humiliating.

“How long was I g-gone?” Morty asked suddenly. He swiveled and tested the water with his toes, finding it too hot for his tastes.

“Almost two days.” Rick sounded bitter, and Morty wondered how much he was blaming himself. Rick seemed like the type who would never forget and never forgive. 

“So w-we won’t be late to get back to the tour.” Morty was relieved. Rick had been through enough. Morty didn’t want to be a burden to his career, too. 

Deciding to brave the hot water, Morty slipped into the bath with a hiss of both pleasure and discomfort. His skin immediately began to turn red. Apparently Rick liked his baths roughly boiling hot. 

“I can go in the other room,” Rick offered.

“No!” Morty sank a little lower in the water, embarrassed of his sudden outburst. “I m-m-mean no, please don’t go.”

Rick pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned his forehead against them. “Morty?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you change your mind? About me?”

“No.” It was almost a little insulting that Rick thought that, but Morty was trying not to jump to conclusions anymore. Those kneejerk reactions had already cost him so much time he could have been spending with Rick by his side instead of alone making himself crazy.

“I just. You didn’t want me to look at you, so I thought…”

“Rick. No. I just…” He swallowed. “I. I’m a little embarrassed. Of m-my...my  _ body.” _

Rick let out a short, breathy laugh. “I can’t fuck you if I can’t look at you.”

“And I’m a virgin,” Morty rushed out. God, this was so embarrassing.

For a moment, Rick stilled. “I didn’t know.”

“So i-i-if this is a one time thing for you, maybe we  _ shouldn’t--” _

“It’s not.” Rick cut him off with cold certainty. “It’s not. Fuck.” He leaned forward, encircling his arms around his head. His voice became so muffled that Morty could barely hear him. “I should be telling you to get far away from me. I should be telling you that I’m  _ poison, _ that I’ve  _ always _ been poison. Instead I want you to know--I want you to understand--I...I  _ love _ you, Morty. I’m in love with you.”

“Rick,” Morty breathed. His heart was leaping erratically in his chest. “Don’t--don’t say it if--”

“I mean it,” Rick answered firmly. “I mean it, Morty. I love you. I’ve never felt like this before. I didn’t think...I didn’t think I  _ could _ feel like this.”

Morty reached out and laid his hand on the back of Rick’s neck. Rick tilted his head back, leaning into the touch. 

“Your hand’s so warm,” he said.

“You can...you can turn around now,” Morty said. His throat was full, stuffed with shyness, but he managed to speak through it. “I want you to.”

They both noticed that Morty hadn’t returned Rick’s declaration, but Rick’s eyes were warm and content when he faced Morty. He sat up on his knees and reached out to hesitantly touch his face. Morty felt his cheeks warm with a heat that had nothing to do with the rising steam from the bath.

“Ni siquiera sabes lo hermoso que eres,1” Rick murmured to him.

“Rick,” Morty breathed. “Kiss me. Please kiss me.”

“Si. Si, toma lo que sea que quieras,2” Rick murmured.

With a delicate touch, Rick cradled the back of Morty’s head. The calluses on his fingertips were rough on Morty’s neck. Morty whimpered, swallowed. Rick leaned down over him, and Morty surged upwards to meet him halfway. Their teeth clacked together. Rick pulled back with a breathy laugh.

“Slowly, cariño. I’ll show you.”

Morty’s courage sputtered within him, but Rick didn’t give him time to think about it. He strengthened his hold on Morty’s nape and laid his other hand against his face. With a delicate brush of his thumb over Morty’s cheek, he tilted the boy’s head  _ just so _ and leaned in again. At the first blushing press of Rick’s lips, Morty’s cock began to stir to life. It felt so much better than he had ever imagined. Rick’s mouth tasted like cigarettes and sugar, and his jaw worked as he intensified and deepened the kiss. His tongue felt like warm velvet as it rolled against Morty’s own. The strength went out of Morty, and Rick caught him under the arm, pulling him closer as he slipped his tongue deeper into his mouth. Morty tried to keep up, but he was failing to do anything but cling to Rick’s neck. His fingers sought out the damp ringlets at the back of Rick’s neck, and when Rick moaned into his mouth Morty felt like he could come untouched. He struggled backwards an inch, panting against Rick’s lips as his body shook.

“Please. Please, Rick. Please,” he murmured, trying not to cry. He wanted so much. He wanted  _ everything _ .

“Can...can I touch you, Morty?”

“Yes!” Morty was going to go insane if Rick  _ didn’t _ touch him.

Rick smirked against Morty’s lips. “Sounds like ‘enthusiastic consent’ to me. Where should I touch you, baby? Here?” His fingertips trailed down Morty’s neck to the hollow of his throat.

“Yes!”

“What about lower?” His light touch ran down Morty’s chest and slipped below the water with a soft sound. He toyed with the delicate skin below Morty’s navel.

“Please, Rick. Oh god. Please, I can’t wait anymore.” Morty was achingly hard, his dick twitching and leaking already. He felt the most delicious fear. No one else had ever touched his cock before.

“Slower, baby. I want you to enjoy this.”

Rick’s fingers wrapped around Morty’s shaft. At the first slow stroke, Morty laid back his head and made a strangled noise. As Rick began to stroke him, Morty pulsed the muscles in his thighs in time. He began to whimper, and couldn’t stop himself. 

“That’s it,” Rick soothed him. “Tell me how you like it, Morty.”

“M-M-M-More by the head,” Morty said. The whole experience was heightened by the embarrassment of talking like this. “Squeeze it h-harder…faster...”

Rick was responsive to Morty’s requests. The light splashing of water tinkled like fairy bells as Rick picked up the pace. He rolled his wrist at the top of every stroke, and thumbed Morty’s slit. Morty’s breath hissed between his clenched teeth. He laid back and let his hips buck up into Rick’s hand, setting a tempo. Together they worked and pushed towards Morty’s climax. He clutched at Rick’s arm, his eyes rolling back, his thighs trembling as he thrust into that loving touch.

As if from far away, Morty heard himself making a strangled sound as his whole body pulsed through an orgasm that hit him like a truck. The fluttering heat of it filled his cock and his balls and his thighs. He could feel his own pulse throughout his whole body. It tore through him, overwhelming, overpowering, and left him weak in its wake. His hands went lax, his vision blurred. 

“Qué buen chico.3”

Rick stood up, and Morty turned to look at him--getting his first good, long look at Rick’s cock. Before he had been just trying not to look. It was hard, now, and at least nine inches. Uncut, as well. Morty began to feel a bit of retroactive shame at his own meager offering.

“Aw geez,” he said, unable to take his eyes off of it.

“Like what you see?” Rick chuckled low in his throat. “No te preocupes, cariño.4 I won’t hurt you.”

Morty nodded. He wasn’t sure what to say back. A few weeks ago he would have said he was at least  _ mostly _ straight. Bicurious, he liked to call it to himself. Now all he could think about was getting his lips around Rick Sanchez’ massive cock. So yeah, he didn’t know how any of this worked and he  _ was _ afraid that it was going to hurt...but he wanted it, anyway.

Rick took him under the arms and lifted him to his feet, then helped him step out of the tub. Morty shivered in the comparatively cool air until Rick wrapped a huge, fluffy towel around him. Then, carefully but with seemingly little effort, Rick picked him up off of the floor, cradling him against his chest in a bridal carry into the bedroom. Morty, startled, threw his arms around Rick’s neck. He felt special. Loved. 

“This isn’t how I imagined it with you,” Morty confessed as Rick tucked him into bed and pulled the blankets up to his chin to stop him shivering.

“So you  _ were _ imagining it,” Rick teased. He pushed Morty’s damp hair back from his forehead.

Morty looked away shyly. “ _ Yes. _ You got me, o-ok?”

“How did you imagine it, baby?” Rick was contrite.

“I th-thought you’d be kinda more…” His gaze flicked over to Rick’s face and away again.

“Rough? Selfish?”

“Both,” Morty admitted.

“Not your first time. If you want me to fuck you like a force of nature, you’re gonna have to ask for it.”

“I want...I want  _ Rick Sanchez _ to fuck me,” Morty said. He definitely couldn’t meet Rick’s eye right now. “I want to know it’s you. I-I-I want the full ex-experience.”

Rick laid beside Morty on top of the covers. He leaned over him, an intense gleam in his eye. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Fuck me,” Morty said. He thrilled at the shiver of fear that went through him at the darkening of Rick’s eyes. “Take me. I’m y-yours, Rick.”

“Morty, _ fuck. _ You can’t  _ say _ shit like that to me--”

“I want to suck y-y-your cock,” Morty went on. “Teach me, Rick.”

***

  
  


“Fucking  _ hell, _ Morty. I’m trying to give you a romantic experience, here.”

Rick wasn’t going to be able to hold back forever. He let Morty’s arms encircle him and draw him down. He obligingly kissed his lover, his cock stirring at the inexpert heat in the press of Morty’s lips. Morty wanted him.  _ Morty wanted him. _ He rutted into the boy’s hip, pressing into soft blankets with deep frustration. His arms closed around him, and he took a fistful of Morty’s hair. Morty made a small noise as Rick pressed his lips to his bare throat.

“Please! Rick!” Morty pleaded. He scrabbled at Rick’s back, and Rick hissed in delicious pain at the drag of nails across his skin.

“You want me to teach you how to suck cock, Morty?”

“Yours,” Morty squeaked as Rick bit into his sensitive skin. “J-Just  _ yours.” _

A shudder ran up Rick’s spine. “You’re goddamn right just mine,” he growled. “Because fuck if I’m gonna share you now. Point of no return, Morty. Either you belong to me, or this stops right now. I can’t have you halfway. Not you.”

“Rick…” Morty touched him gently under the chin and raised his head, locked gazes with him. “I know you’re...you’re  _ poison _ or whatever. I know I should get away from you. But I  _ don’t want to. _ I just want us to be together.” He trailed his fingers down Rick’s chest. “Show me how to please you, Rick.”

Rick didn’t give him another chance to take it back. He slipped off of the blanket and threw it off of Morty, helping the boy settle down on his stomach between Rick’s thighs. He caressed Morty’s blushing cheek with one hand while he stroked himself with the other.

“The head is  _ really _ sensitive, so don’t just roll the foreskin back and pretend it’s not there. Watch my hand, baby.”

Morty’s rapt attention to his dick was  _ inspiring, _ and Rick watched his muse hungrily as he began to play with himself. He rolled his foreskin back for a moment, thumbing at his head for a few strokes before rolling it back up and continuing with nice, languid strokes.

“You can go a little harder if it’s rolled up--put your hand over mine and-- _ yeah, _ feel that? Don’t tug on it, but you can  _ squeeze _ it.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Morty fretted. “This seems kinda complicated.”

“Just watch, baby. Watch what I’m doing and you’ll understand what to do with your mouth.” Rick continued to masturbate slowly, holding back a flood of groans at the sight of Morty’s eyes following his every move.

“Aw, geez…That looks really complicated.”

“Morty, you don’t have to be a virtuoso your first time. This is special to me, ok? Fuck. I can’t believe the gay shit you make me say.” 

“The ‘gay shit’ you’re  _ saying? _ Rick, y-y-you’re about to get a blowjob from a  _ guy. _ I kinda think that’s the ‘gay’ part here.”

“Guess you’re right. Dad didn’t beat the fag out of me, after all.”

“Rick…”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry. I’m just kidding.” Rick ran his thumb down Morty’s cheek and took him firmly by the jaw. “Give it a try, baby.”

Rick helped Morty find a good angle for his head, and helped him wrap his hand around the base of his dick.

“Don’t be scared.”

“I was just wondering what it’s gonna taste like.”

Rick snorted. “Like dick--what else? It’s not bad, cariño. Start out slow. Just get your tongue under the foreskin and explore a little.”

Morty locked eyes with him as he gave a nervous little kitten lick to the tip of Rick’s cock that was just barely showing. Rick watched a bead of precome roll onto his little pink tongue and sighed. He rolled his foreskin up so that there was more of a pocket, and Morty immediately plunged his tongue inside. Rick groaned at the sudden wet heat. The tension, the _ anticipation _ of this moment had heightened the pleasure of it until just this,  _ just this,  _ far surpassed any sexual experience he'd had. It had never meant so much before. Trembling all the way down to his fingertips, Rick brushed Morty's damp ringlets out of his eyes.

"Ay, cariño, doing so good for me," Rick praised.

Morty's honeyed eyes flicked up to meet his own, and Rick nearly lost himself. He let out a soft whimper. Watching Morty take him into his hot mouth felt sinful, and Rick had always been an eager sinner. If he was the devil, then Morty was an angel who had fallen right onto his cock.

"Watch the teeth, baby. There you go." Rick let his vision go hazy, his eyes half lidded. He was glad he was sober for this. He wanted to remember all of it. "Don't be afraid to get messy. I like it that way. Fuck, Morty, your tiny hands make my dick look  _ huge. _ Te vas a deshacer de lo rico que te voy a coger.5 _ " _

He thumbed a tear off of Morty's cheek as the boy paid clumsy homage to him. Red-faced and crying was a good look on him. Morty whined around him, wriggling around to reach down between his legs. Rick grabbed him firmly by the hair and jerked his head back and nearly off of his dick.

"You hard again, cariño? You get hard from sucking me off?"

Morty hummed an affirmative, vibrating Rick's cock. Rick's eyelids fluttered and an iridescent shiver ran up his spine. His grip on Morty's hair tightened.

"Rule one is: you don't touch yourself until  _ I _ tell you to, me entiendes? You want the Rick Sanchez experience? Fine. I own your pleasure now, Morty. You can come when I say you can come." 

A fat tear ran down the curve of Morty's cheek and spilled onto Rick's silky foreskin. He imagined that he could feel it's heat. Morty's efforts were a mess, but Rick had a thing for criers and he felt himself lurch toward the finish line at the sight. He didn't want that, though. Not this time. 

"Ok, shh, easy," Rick cooed, gently guiding Morty backwards. He took over when his lover's mouth left him, toying with his erection.

"Did I do it right?" Morty asked, rubbing his arm nervously. He sat back on his haunches between Rick's legs. His empty hand pinched at his own thigh; he was trying not to touch himself.

_ What a good little slut. _

"You did perfect, cariño." Rick cupped Morty's jaw and ran the pad of his thumb over his beautifully swollen bottom lip. "Next time I'm gonna fuck that pretty mouth of yours." 

Next time.  _ Next time.  _ There was going to be a next time. Morty blushed and his gaze sank for a moment, dipped under the weight of his shyness. That wouldn't do. Rick pulled Morty close to him, laying him on his chest. Morty's hips immediately rolled into his, and Rick let out a sigh of contentment as his body answered, grinding upwards. He touched Morty gently between his shoulders and on the nape of his neck. He craned upwards and kissed him. Morty clung to his shoulders as Rick's tongue lazily explored his mouth. When he pulled back he rolled Morty's lower lip between his teeth in parting. Morty tried to follow him, but Rick tilted his head and sucked at the soft spot behind his jaw, just below his ear. Morty mewled. His hips bucked against Rick's.

"Are you gonna..are you…" Morty hissed as Rick pinched his nipple. "Rick! Stop teasing!"

"No, I won't stop teasing," said Rick. "You make the best sounds, cariño."

"Riiiiiick," Morty's hips picked up urgency.

Rick reached out and groped blindly at the nightstand as he scraped his teeth over Morty's throat, eventually finding the bottle of lube he had left there a few days ago. He let Morty shyly bite at his neck while he wet his fingers. Morty stiffened as he eased them into the cleft of his ass. He circled Morty's entrance soothingly, but the boy didn't relax.

"Have you never touched yourself here?" Rick asked, gentle as a lamb.

"I  _ have, _ it's just…"

"Afraid?"

Morty hid his face in the crook of Rick's neck and nodded. "Is it gonna hurt?"

"Maybe a little," Rick said. "The more you relax the easier it will be."

Morty whimpered as Rick put a bit of pressure on his hole. Rick continued to circle and press, rubbing the boy's back with his other hand.

"That's it, baby. Te amo, Morty. No te preocupes." He nosed against his neck, breathing into the shadows between them. 

Rick reached between them and looped his hand around both of their erections. Morty made a small sound as Rick stroked him, his hand full of their hot and silky skin. While he was distracted Rick pushed one long, slim finger inside of him. Morty moaned openly, and Rick grinned into the sliver of space between them. 

"You're doing so good for me, cariño." Rick bit his lip, holding back a groan. "I can't wait to fuck that sweet little ass of yours. Shit. You're so tight."

Morty whined fearfully as Rick nudged against his entrance with a second finger. He clenched instinctively. This wasn’t going as well as Rick had planned.

"Ok, ok. New plan, baby," said Rick. He withdrew his hand and held Morty tightly with both arms. Shifting to his knees, he laid Morty out beneath him on his back and settled between his parted thighs.

"No! I want to--Rick, I want you to fuck me." 

"We're just gonna try this a different way. You need to relax. Déjame comerte ese culito, cariño. Te va a encantar.6"

Morty's skin felt so warm under Rick's hands as he ran them up and down his flanks. Morty arched his back and let Rick run his rough fingers down the curve of his spine. He lifted Morty's hips and hooked his legs over his shoulders. Morty's breath hitched and stuttered when Rick licked his way from his balls to the tip of his dripping cock.

"More," Morty begged immediately. "Please, more."

Rick couldn't say no to him. He chuckled darkly before sucking the tip into his mouth, teasing the slit with his tongue. Slowly, carefully he slipped down and down, feeling his dick twitch as Morty whined and twisted beneath him. He let the head of him run across the ridges of his hard palate and then slip down his throat. Morty cried out when Rick swallowed around him, beginning to quietly sob. Rick made a show of choking. They always liked it when he choked.

"Rick! I'm gonna come. I'm gonna...oh fuck…Please, can I…"

Rick pulled back and wiped his mouth on his forearm. Morty’s lip was trembling. He wailed out his disappointment, but Rick just smirked.

"Don't cry, baby. I  _ love  _ sucking dick. There's plenty more where that came from...later." He licked across Morty's balls with his broad tongue. "You were so good for me, asking permission."

"You said…"

"What did I say?" 

"You said you own my pleasure," Morty said, meek and mild.

Rick reached between his own legs and gave himself a few strokes, rolling back his foreskin to tease the head, his thumb lubricated with precome. "Ay, chico, you're making me so hard," Rick groaned. "Can't come yet, baby. I'm not done with you."

"Please, Rick. I'm sorry, I'll be good. I'll relax."

"I know you will. 'Cause I'm gonna make you. Lay back, baby. Enjoy the ride."

"What ri--" 

Morty cut himself off with a razor sharp yelp as Rick nosed into the cleft of his ass and dragged his tongue slowly across his entrance.

"No! Rick, you can't!" 

Rick rolled his tongue back and forth a few times before coming up for air.

"Do you mean 'no,' or do you mean 'Rick, you shouldn't eat my ass 'cause I'm embarrassed?'"

"Embarrassed," Morty confirmed shyly. He chewed his lip and tried to look anywhere but Rick's face.

"That's what I thought. Calm down, shh. Close your eyes. Let me make love to you."

"I can relax," Morty tried, one last time. "You don't have to--"

"Morty, do you think I would be eating your ass if I didn't love eating ass? Do you think I'm the kind of guy who does  _ anything _ he doesn't want to do?" 

"No." 

"Now just fucking close your eyes."

Rick stared pointedly until his stubborn lover obeyed and shut his eyes. He pried Morty's cheeks apart with his thumbs and went back to lapping at the hot pucker before him. Morty moaned and whimpered, clutching at his own thighs since he couldn't reach Rick's hair. Spit rolled down Rick's chin as he worked the boy over, circling and pressing in turns until he gradually felt Morty giving up and giving in. Rick worked his tongue further inside of him as he unclenched, his whole body loosening in a slow ripple. His thighs and back went lax. Rick struggled to keep his legs over his shoulder as Morty whined and sighed.

Finally, Rick could slip two fingers inside, and all Morty could do was arch as a throaty sound rose from him like thick smoke. Morty's  _ sounds _ were like the sinner's version of a heavenly chorus. Rick remembered his threat to keep him in bed for a week, and he considered that he might, just to hear more of this beautiful music. Morty whimpered when Rick spread his fingers wide, but sighed and shuddered when Rick plunged his tongue into the space between them. Tongue and fingers worked in tandem to open Morty's body like a summer blossom, coaxing him to unfold into ebullient bloom.

When he was ready, Rick lowered him gently to the bed. He began to roll him onto his stomach when Morty grabbed him by the arms and held tight. He shook his head resolutely.

"It'll hurt more this way," Rick said, hesitating.

"It's my first time. I want to kiss you."

Rick pushed his thumb inside of Morty, testing the stretch. He was relaxed and loose. 

"Pull your knees up to your chest and hold them." 

Hurriedly, Rick slicked down his cock and lined himself up with Morty's entrance. Morty's eyes held a full rainbow: fear and love, lust and shame.

"Beautiful," Rick said, letting his burning gaze wander over Morty’s body.

Morty’s hands reached up to cover himself in a sudden gesture of shyness, and Rick used the moment of distraction to open Morty with his thumbs and push forward through the first ring of resistance inside of Morty. Morty slapped his hand over his mouth, but Rick quickly wrenched his hand away. He hissed, something primal filling his head and spilling out into the air. Morty keened at the top of his voice. Rick had an internal struggle to push forward inch by agonizing inch when all he wanted was to slam home. Beneath him Morty twisted and whined.

“Almost, almost there,” Rick promised when he was halfway in. 

He lowered them both to the bed, careful not to slip out as he rearranged them. Chest to chest their sweat-slick bodies slid together. Rick grabbed a thick handful of Morty’s hair and tilted his head back until they could kiss. Passion like he had never felt before tore through him, leaving him shivering at the chill it left in its passing. Morty clung to him, his little nails scrabbling at Rick’s back. His legs wrapped around Rick’s waist. His body relaxed and loosened again, and Rick slowly buried himself to the hilt inside of Morty, who was babbling to the gods by then. Rick rocked into him, wringing a little gasp out of him.

“Are you ready, baby,” Rick purred against Morty’s ear, voice low. He nosed down Morty’s neck to bite a pretty bruise into his soft skin.

Morty’s thighs tightened around him graspingly, pulling him down and in. “Please,” Morty sobbed. He touched Rick’s face, who sucked his fingers into his mouth. Morty moaned, and his hips bucked. “Please, you...you’ve gotta--p-p-p-please, Rick, please, you gotta fuck me!”

Rick pulled back and gave Morty his first real, deep thrust. Morty took his fingers from Rick’s mouth and unthinkingly placed them in his own, chewing on his own flesh to keep himself quiet.

“I wanna hear you,” Rick demanded. He snapped his hips forward in a sharp demand for attention. Morty laid his head back and wailed and Rick kept it up, pressing the advantage. Morty’s cries were intoxicating. “That’s it, cariño, sing me a song. Say my name, Morty,  _ fuck _ ,” he grunted. “Say my name. Say--let me hear you.”

“ _ Riiiiiick,”  _ Morty keened. “Rick! Rick! Fuck, please, R-Rick, please l-l-let me touch myself.”

Rick licked salty sweat out of the hollow of Morty’s throat. “No.”

“You ha--I need to come so bad,” Morty begged, his voice hitching with every thrust of Rick’s hips. 

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Rick sought out Morty’s lips as he fucked into him, swallowing his beautiful noises. In truth, Rick was rushing hell-bent towards his climax. Anticipation had elevated every twitch of Morty’s velvety body around him to orgasmic heights. He wanted to last. He wanted to savor all of this, this first time between them.

“Rick,” Morty whispered against his lips. “Take me. Take me.”

“You’re mine,” Rick growled. “You fuckin’ hear me, Morty? You’re  _ mine. _ I love you. Te--te amo, Morty.”

Once again, Morty didn’t say it back, but Rick was willing to place his heart on this altar. Morty could accept the sacrifice or reject it, but now at least he couldn’t ignore it and pretend he didn’t know. When Morty’s arms closed around Rick and pulled him into a deeper kiss. He couldn’t blame him for his avoidance. Rick knew he was stupid to give his feelings a name so soon, that he had laughed at the concept of ‘love at first sight,’ himself. But he couldn’t deny his own feelings, not here and now with their bodies coiled around one another. Morty’s fingers tightened on his back and he sighed out a lungful of Morty’s soft breaths. They panted against each other as Rick fucked him. They moved together, Morty holding on as hard as he could until Rick stumbled into an angle that made Morty howl and writhe beneath him.

“You want to touch yourself? Hm?” Rick pulled back to look down at his lover, luxuriating in his debauched expression. Morty nodded. His honeyed eyes were half lidded and filled with tears. “Better speak up, Morty. What do you want?”

Every time Morty managed to suck down a full lungful of air Rick knocked it out of him with a sharp thrust that dragged the head of his dick over Morty’s prostate. Morty’s fingers threaded through Rick’s hair and held on desperately. Rick moaned at the sharp pain. 

His rhythm began to break down. He reached between them and took hold of Morty’s cock, proving immediately that he’d been paying attention in the bath. Now he knew just how he liked to be touched. 

“Almost,” Rick gasped. “Almost. Stay with me. Stay with me…”

Morty whimpered and rolled his hips into Rick’s hand. He tensed and flexed around Rick’s cock rhythmically. Rick groaned.

“Come in me,” Morty pleaded, dragging his nails down Rick’s back. “Come inside me.”

“ _ Fuck,” _ Rick gasped, unprepared. His rhythm stuttered into a pattern utterly selfish. He squeezed his eyes shut tight. “So close, so close…”

Rick saw climax coming for him and welcomed it with open arms. His whole body tightened suddenly and then he was flooded with pleasure that moved through him in waves. The wet warmth of his ecstasy pulsed in his dick as he emptied himself into Morty. Every beat of his heart brought another pang, on and on in the longest orgasm he had ever had. His tongue rolled in his mouth, pushing out a stream of loving nonsense, of oaths and fond musings in two languages.

It took him some time to come back to himself. Morty guided him onto one hip beside him, making a pathetic little sound as Rick slipped out and left him empty. Rick noticed that Morty had come all over his hand, and he cleaned it off with his tongue. Morty looked on with a look of conflicted horror and perverted fascination. Rick’s eyes smouldered as he sucked his fingers clean, and he laughed when Morty looked away to hide a blush that deepened beneath the surface of his mottled cheeks. 

“Want a taste?” Rick teased.

“You didn’t have to do that...aw, geez, Rick…”

“I keep telling you, Morty; I only do what I want to do.” He kissed him on the cheek and then murmured into his ear. “I wanted to taste you.”

Morty hid behind his hand, and Rick put his arms around him and pulled his back against his chest. He kissed Morty on the soft spot just below his ear, feeling his pulse thrum beneath his lips. He was drunk on love, weaving daisy chains in his mind to bind Morty together with himself.

“Rick,” Morty said. He twisted in Rick’s grasp to lock eyes with him. Rick began to lean in for another kiss, but Morty held him back by a stiff hand on his chest. “I want to look at you. Can I-I-I just look at you for a minute?”

Rick thought he could hold his eye, but he instantly felt too naked and looked away. Morty reached out and turned his face back towards him. Rick was trapped, flayed by Morty’s amber eyes.

“Don’t,” Rick said nervously. 

“You’re sober. Your eyes…”

Rick nodded. “I took a maintenance dose yesterday, but other than keeping myself out of withdrawal I haven’t… It’s not going to be like this all the time.”

“I know.” Morty ran his fingers through Rick’s hair. “But you were sober for my first time. That’s really--that’s special, Rick.”

Rick wished, on the falling star of his own shitty life, that he could be sober for Morty all the time. His time on the Citadel taught him better, though. Even the Ricks who tried to run away from the bottle fell to it in the end. Addiction was an inevitability of a Rick’s life. 

“I…” Rick began, with no idea what he could possibly say.

"You don't have to say it." The tension that had crept over the back of Rick's neck vanished in the light of Morty's absolution. "I think you ruined sex for me," Morty said, breathing out a soft laugh. "I don't think most people…" He cut himself off, blushing.

"Most people don't fuck like me." No sense in beating around the bush. Rick was proud of his prowess. " _ Other Ricks _ don't fuck like me. I'm the best lay in town, baby!" 

"Lucky me." Morty snuggled up to him, laying his head on his shoulder. “Biggest ego in town, maybe.”

“That’s a given.” Rick lay, staring up at the ceiling as he fended off panic. Had he ever felt this happy in his whole life? How long was it going to take him to fuck it up? Morty moved against him, and he wrapped him in reassuring arms. “Biggest dick in town, too.”

Morty laughed against his shoulder and slapped him playfully on his chest. “You wish.”

“It’s a curse,” Rick went on, amusing himself. “I’ve looked all over the land for a fit, and I finally found my slutty roadie--ow! I mean, my  _ virginal Morty’s _ golden asshole. Now I’m gonna turn into a handsome prince.”

“Oh, good. I was getting tired of looking at you.”

Morty didn’t mean anything by it, but for a moment Rick’s foundation wavered to the frequency of an ancient insecurity. He tried to shake it away, to cleanse it from his mind with something new and beautiful. “I’ll never get tired of looking at  _ you _ ,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to the crown of Morty’s head.

Morty stilled, as calm and ominous as deep water. “Don’t make me p-promises that you can’t keep, Rick.”

“I don’t promise to quit drugs, I don’t promise to quit drinking, but I  _ do _ promise that I love you, Morty. I don’t...I don’t really have to paint you a picture, do I, of just how fucked up things were for me before MIT.”

“No, you don’t,” Morty said quietly. He squeezed Rick more tightly.

“I never got to have a first love. I didn’t think I could even feel love. But now I do.”

“That’s what I mean,” Morty said. He buried his face in the crook of Rick’s neck to hide it. “You do. I believe you love me now. But we...we just met. So how much...how much longer will you? Don’t promise me f-forever, Rick. No one stays forever.”

"Baby…" Rick gently rearranged Morty, bringing them face to face. "Say you'll be mine and I'll follow you anywhere."

"That's not fair." Morty tried to hide again, but Rick held him still.

"What's not fair?" 

"I can't think straight when you call me 'baby,'" Morty said. He shifted his gaze to the ceiling, failing to pull off a casual look.

Rick bit back a little snicker. Instead, he leaned in and breathed into Morty's ear. "¿Qué tal así? ¿Te gusta cuando te digo secretos al oído? Quiero hacerte el amor cada noche; quiero cogerte bajo las estrellas.7" Say you'll be mine, cariño."

"Rick! Stop!" Morty tried to angle his body away, but Rick held him fast by his hips.

"Me quieres otra vez. ¿Eres una pequeña zorra, Morty?8"

Morty whimpered and clung to Rick's arms. "I don't know what you're saying, but if you don't stop then...then…"

"Then you'll make your boner  _ my _ problem? Don't threaten me with a good time." Rick leaned back and grinned at Morty. "C'mon. Be my novio, baby. Don't make me beg."

"Novio?"

"Boyfriend. Be my boyfriend."

Morty blushed all the way to the tips of his ears. "I kinda thought the sex implied…"

"Say it. I want you to say it, cariño."

"Do I have to?"

"If you want me to suck you off you do. That's the sort of charitable act that only a  _ boyfriend--" _

"Fine! Yes! You can stop asking; I'll be your boyfriend." Morty burst out. 

Rick laughed, so freely and easily that it rose and fell like music in the dim room. When had he last laughed this way? He wasn't thinking about any of his troubles, his insecurities. He was just thinking about Morty. Somehow he had ended up holding something so  _ right _ in the palm of his hand, and he was determined for once not to fuck it up.

"I'm gonna spoil you rotten," Rick promised. He rolled onto his stomach between Morty's legs. "Grab my phone from the nightstand." 

"What for?"

"Order room service; I want to see if I can get you off again before it gets here."

Turned out he could. He played Morty like a fiddle and soaked in the music of the body writhing and gasping beneath the ministrations of his clever tongue. Morty was so wrung out by the time their delivery came that Rick had to answer the door by himself, ignoring Morty’s protests that he shouldn't do so naked. He stifled the nausea that came of watching other people eat so that he could share contented silence with Morty. He even accepted Morty's 'leftovers' without calling him out for ordering too much on purpose. 

Everything was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: When You Begin to Dance
> 
> 1\. You have no idea how beautiful you are.  
> 2\. Yes. Yes, whatever you want.  
> 3\. What a good boy.  
> 4\. Don't be scared, dear.  
> 5\. You're going to come apart with how good I'm going to fuck you.  
> 6\. Let me eat that little ass, baby. You're going to love it.  
> 7\. How about this? Do you like it when I whisper secrets in your ear? I want to make love to you every night; I want to fuck you under the stars.  
> 8\. You want me already. Are you a little slut, Morty?
> 
> Hey guys! I hope you liked it! I just wanted to pop in and let you know that due to some personal health issues I've gotten a little behind recently. The next three chapters are guaranteed to come out on time, but I might have to move to biweekly updates for a little while after that until I catch back up. Meanwhile, if you're enjoying the fic please consider leaving kudos and/or a comment! They really brighten my day like you wouldn't believe.


	10. Never Take Friendship Personal

Rick sat on top of the massive speaker stage left of all the bustle and fuss of setup. He had a really good fractal dust high rolling, and the air around him was sparkling like sugar crystals. He listened to the music of the world around him. He wished he could show someone what it sounded like to him, but none of his compositions were complex enough; they always fell short of true communication, of showing his mind to another. He wanted to be understood, if just for one moment. He wanted  _ Morty _ to understand him. With his young lover in mind, he began to mentally notate a new concerto for flute and cello.

"You're staring again, bro."

Rick shifted, looking down to see Squanchy standing beneath him. Rick answered him with a toothy grin.

"Yeah? Didn't realize."

Squanchy offered Rick a cigarette, which he accepted happily. He lit it and exhaled in a long stream, watching the eddies of smoke frolic in the bright stage lighting. 

"Yeah, well, everyone else squanching did."

"We have a problem, here?" Rick asked, feeling a sudden dampening of his high.

"Us? No. But you gotta think this shit through, wey. You and me aren't the only ones here."

"Anyone who doesn't want me to be happy can fuck right off."

"That's the problem. Think about who you're flipping off, here." Rick followed the line of Squanchy's eyes when the cat gave an indicating nod. 

Rick wasn't the only one staring at Morty. Birdperson hovered near the stage right wing, blatantly staring at Morty while the boy stood, unaware, at center stage. As Morty got down on his knees and began securing a bundle of cables to the floor with gaff tape, Rick got a good look at the ass he had been eating every night this week. He nudged Squanchy with the toe of his boot.

“Mira nomás ese culito que se carga, wey _ ,1” _ Rick said, giving a subtle nod over.

“That’s not the point, here,” Squanchy said. He dragged his hand over his face. “You’re too squanching’ high to have this conversation right now, aren’t you?”

“Probably. You should have hit it with me earlier.”   
  


“What? That ass?” Squanchy teased.

Rick stuck his tongue at him. He ashed on top of the speaker and took a deep drag. “The pipe, Squanch. I think that might have been the last of the fractal dust.”

“You squanched it all without me?” Squanchy shook his head, struggling to stay on task. “That’s not the point, either! What are you gonna do about BP?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“First you’re heading hard for the gutter. Then you run off two weeks ago, no explanation. Then when you showed up  _ four days later _ all of a sudden Morty’s your boyfriend and you’re not riding the bus anymore. No one knows what to do with you anymore. And you’re  _ still _ buying H from me. I should cut you off.”

“You won’t,” Rick said simply. He leaned farther over the edge of the speaker to see Squanchy better.

“How do you know? Maybe it’s squanch what you need.”

“Because you’ve been here. You remember what it’s like to be right where I am. Plus,” he went on, pointing at Squanchy with a glowing cigarette between his fingers, “You like Morty. You won’t make him watch me withdraw. Just until the end of tour, wey. I’ll check into rehab as soon as I get home.”

“Rick rehab? Sounds like exactly where I’d go to buy the good shit.”

“Most Citadel rehabs are staffed by Mortys.” Rick tilted his head back and sighed. “I never got why Ricks cared so much about Mortys, but now I understand. I mean, this shit is destiny, Squanch. If you start with the knowledge that most Ricks have a Morty to an astronomically significant prevalence of--”

“Is this about to be math?” Squanchy interrupted him.

“Mi culpa,” Rick said, holding up his hands. “The point is, we’re basically an inevitability of the multiverse. Ricks and Mortys belong together. So no, I’m not going to let Pers keep us apart. I’m not fucking things up with Morty for him or you or anybody else.”

“No one wants to  _ keep you apart,” _ Squanchy said. “Maybe more like ‘keep your pants on until you get home.’”

“No one’s ever cared who I fucked around with before. So now when it’s someone I actually  _ love _ you finally have something to say about it? No, Squanch. This is too important to me. I almost lost Morty because he thought I was ashamed of him when I fucking  _ flinched _ at that party. I’m not giving him any more reasons to think that and bolt.”

“There’s got to be a middle squanch.”

Rick gave Squanchy a heavy look. He put his pinkies in his mouth and wolf whistled at Morty. Ignoring Squanchy’s disapproving grumbling, Rick laughed when Morty popped up like a prairie dog. He beckoned to him, waggling his eyebrow suggestively. Morty looked left and right, and then made a terse, dismissive gesture.

“If you don’t come over here I’m gonna sing to you in front of  _ everyone _ here,” Rick called to him, throwing his arms wide open to indicate the entire production team.

“Rick!” Morty scrambled to his feet and jogged over, looking to his sides again. “Rick, you seriously have to stop thi--woah!!!”

Rick grabbed him by the arm and tried to haul him up on top of the speaker, but he had to reach down a little too far and even his bionic arm wasn’t much help considering the lack of leverage.

“Come up here, cariño,” Rick cajoled. “I need to kiss you.”

“You can’t keep doing this, Rick. You haven’t even let me say hello to Squanchy, and I’m p-p-pretty sure the rest of the guys think I’m sleeping with you to stay in the cushy hotel.”

“That  _ would _ be smart,” Rick appraised. “Good thing you’re a Morty. You’re too dumb and honest to use someone like that.” Morty swatted Rick on the leg while he cackled at his own terrible joke. 

“Hey, Morty,” said Squanchy, greeting him while Rick laughed.

“Enough! Come up here!” Rick whined, pulling on Morty’s arm.

“We’ll catch up later,” Squanchy said. He gave Rick a lingering look before he left.

Out of distractions and excuses, Morty caved and climbed up onto the speaker. Before he had even finished sitting down, Rick was on him. He pulled on the front of his black shirt and slotted their lips together. He congratulated himself when Morty melted against him, allowing himself to be cradled and pulled closer. Rick’s fingers walked up Morty’s back, and Morty cupped Rick’s face reverently as they kissed. Rick twisted them together, laying Morty down on the speaker and rolling smoothly on top of him.

“Rick…” said Morty doubtfully as Rick left his lips to kiss his way down his throat.

“Bet you’d let me fuck you right here,” Rick murmured against his skin. 

“Would not.  _ Hey! _ Seriously, R-Rick,” Morty said, wriggling in Rick’s grasp.

“Just admit that you’re a little slut and I’ll let you go.” He sucked another bruise into Morty’s neck, and enjoyed the uncertain sound that his lover made in response.

“Rick.” Morty’s fingers delicately touched his hair. The bottom was going to fall out of Rick’s heart--he was going to drown in his love in the depths. “Rick, you have to stop. I-I-I-I’m not gonna be able to stop you if you don’t stop  _ now.” _

“You know what you have to say.” Rick licked the shell of Morty’s ear. 

“I-I-I-I…” Rick reached between them and found the outlet of an erection between Morty’s legs. As soon as his hand closed around it Morty yelped and recoiled. “I’m your l-l-l-little slut,” he stammered, as quickly as he could possibly get it out.

“ _ Ooh, _ I like that little improv there. Yeah, that’s right. You’re a slut but you’re  _ mine. _ ” Rick gave Morty a slow, firm squeeze.

“Please,” Morty whimpered.

“Please, what, Morty? ‘Ay, Papi, please make me jizz in my pants?’ or maybe ‘Fuck me hard, Rick?’”

Rick felt Morty struggle through a breath, and he grinned against the boy’s jaw. 

“Please...we can’t do this n-n-now,” Morty panted, pushing weakly against Rick’s chest. “We can do more throat training tonight if you let me go now.”

“You just played yourself,” Rick chuckled. He sat back from Morty and smirked down on him. “I was about to let you go, anyway.”

“Asshole,” Morty complained, and while Rick worried that he’d gone too far Morty pulled him down into a lingering kiss, his arms looped lazily around Rick’s neck.

“What’s that? You want me to let you lick my asshole tonight?” Rick teased. “Gosh, Morty, if you’re gonna  _ beg _ like that, I--”

“Rick!”

Rick chuckled and sat up, under a barrage of playful smacks. “Ok, ok! I yield. Get fuckin’ back to work so I can get back to watching you work in those tight pants.”

Morty sat up beside him, pulling down the front of his shirt and frowning down into his lap. “Oh god…”

“Are you calling my name, baby?” Rick cupped his hand behind his ear.

“Shut up,” Morty giggled, distracted from his distress by Rick’s antics. “I have a  _ problem _ over here, and it’s your fault in the first place!”

“Don’t sweat it, cariño, at least half of these aliens wouldn’t even understand a boner if you spent all day explaining it to them. No one’s gonna care.”

“Only half, Rick!  _ Only  _ half! That still leaves plenty of people to judge me!” Rick watched Morty’s gaze flick to the side, landing for a moment on the girl he’d caught him with on the night of the party. 

“Plenty of people?” Rick grasped his own knees and squeezed until his knuckles turned white. “Or just that pink bitch?”

“That’s not fair, Rick,” Morty said, beginning to tense up. “Mehva didn’t do anything, and  _ I don’t like her that way _ a-anyhow.”

“You liked her enough a few weeks ago.”

“Because I was t-t-t-trying to not like  _ you! _ It didn’t  _ mean _ anything.” Morty leaned forward and pulled on Rick’s arm, imploring him to see sense.

“You let her touch you.” Rick was just revving himself up now in a habitual rite of mental self harm. “You let her touch you before you let  _ me _ touch you.”

“Rick.  _ Rick,” _ Morty said. He reached out and gently turned Rick’s face toward himself. Rick stared into jade flecked eyes blankly at first, but as he breathed in and out Morty smiled and his amassed fury began to ebb. “It didn’t mean anything, ok? I-I-I don’t want to be with anyone else. You’re getting jealous for no reason.”

It wasn’t  _ no reason. _ Rick had plenty of perfectly rational reasons to be maddeningly jealous of the Kreflian girl. He wondered, for instance, if he was going to lose out in the end to a nice set of tits. Morty had never kissed a boy before Rick, he’d said that night at the party. Maybe dick was the flavor of the month and Morty would decide he’d had his answers after this tour of bicuriosity. Human cock was Rick’s first love, and it was fitting that his first  _ actual _ love was equipped with one. Morty, on the other hand, had probably imagined his first time pressed up against soft curves and driving into a wet pussy. Rick hated Morty having someone like that dangling right under his nose. Wasn’t it just a matter of time?

“Who’s jealous?”

“Honesty, remember?”

_ Of course _ Rick remembered Morty’s pontification on honesty. He had made it crystal clear that he wouldn’t stick around with a junkie and a liar. Rick had to make improvement on at least one of those fronts. He looked down at his feet, dangling over the edge of the speaker, kicking his heels against it while he wrestled with his thoughts. “She wants you and it makes me mad,” he finally allowed.

“It doesn’t matter, Rick,” Morty said, his gentle words a clear reward for Rick’s compelled confession. “I only want you.”

Rick embraced him, holding him against his chest. “I only want you, Morty,” he said, turning his words around on him. “I love you.”

Morty’s hands tightened on Rick’s shirt, and he could imagine him pressing his lips into a thin line. Morty still hadn’t said ‘I love you’ to him, but he was trying to be patient and understanding. If he’d cried about it a few times, well, no one had to know that. Least of all Morty.

So much for honesty.

“I’ve g-got to get back,” Morty said, pulling back from Rick. “Everyone makes me carry the h-heavy shit, now that you call me up here to make out all the t-time.”

“Sure, baby,” Rick said. He leaned in and gave him a parting kiss. “I’ve got plans for you tonight; playing a gig always makes me horny.”

“Does that mean we don’t have to go to the afterparty?”

“The party is part of the job, Morty.”

“What if you get whiskey dick?”

“Morty, considering how I feel about sex, do you really think I’d party this hard if whiskey dick were a problem for me? Trust me, I’ve never failed to perform.”

“You sit there and get jealous of someone I never even  _ did _ anything with, but you’re going to bring up all the sex you’ve had? Really, Rick?”

“Yeah. You know, all that stuff I’m  _ actively giving up _ to be with only one person now? Out of love? Don’t feel jealous; feel special.”

“I do,” Morty assured him. They kissed again, casually as if they had been doing it for years, a brief warm press of lips. “I have to go.”

Rick watched Morty jump down to the ground and head back for center stage, picking up his task right where he’d left off. Rick watched him, his heart fluttering in slow waves. Morty was right. He shouldn’t be jealous. He was just going to drive Morty away for nothing--no point. He had to trust. 

He was so busy staring at Morty that he didn’t notice Mehva coming up to him until she was standing right beside his leg. He frowned down at her.

“Shoo,” he said, nudging her with the toe of his boot.

“Get over yourself. So you’re fucking Morty now. A roadie isn’t some kind of big conquest to crow about.”

“Not gonna let you dampen my spirits, princess. I don’t give a fuck what you think about me and Morty. You’re just bitter ‘cause he made his choice and it wasn’t you.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not the one who cares,” Mehva said. “Morty told me what a dick you are.  _ He knows what a dick you are. _ He’s gonna leave you before tour is over and I’m gonna be there to pick up the pieces. You know why? I hate rich, famous assholes like you.”

“Morty won’t leave me.”

She smiled, and it looked infuriatingly knowing and Rick wanted to smash it off of her face. She turned away from him. “Oh yeah,” she tossed over her shoulder to him. “By the way I came to let you know we’re testing the speakers now.”

With a single gesture, she told the booth to just go ahead with the test with Rick sitting on top. 

He almost didn’t get his hearing back before the concert started.

  
  


***

  
  


Morty hated this party even more than he’d hated last week’s party. Every day that passed he and Rick grew more comfortable with one another, and it was probably a bad sign that he already hated watching Rick laughing and being familiar with other people while he himself hung back, turning down intoxicants and just watching. Morty’d had enough when he saw reluctance in Rick’s eyes as he turned down an offer to do a line off of someone’s dick. He started to turn away, to go find some water and rethink his life, when Rick grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him close. Morty was suddenly the center of attention, with Rick’s chest rumbling against his back as he laughed at something Morty had missed. He tried to duck out of Rick’s grasp and was only held tighter for it. Rick smelled like smoke, a scent that was beginning to inspire Pavlovian responses in the erotic track of Morty’s thoughts. He was getting hard already when Rick bent over him and his soft, fragrant hair fell in Morty’s face. Rick’s arms crossed around him, and Morty was suddenly surrounded by him--by the warmth of his skin and the voice vibrating against his back and into his ear. He was cut off from everyone but Rick.

“I want to suck your dick,” Rick said. His hands moved down Morty’s body in search of the button of his jeans. Morty just barely managed to stop him before he got there.

“Rick! There are so m-m-many people here,” Morty begged, hoping that Rick would just relent.

Yeah, he should have known better.

“I don’t care. I wanna make you feel good. C’mon, Morty.”

“If w-w-w-w-we can find somewhere private.” 

“Private,” Rick echoed, dismissively. “It’s hotter with people watching.”

“Maybe for you…”

“What, you don’t wanna be the guy who fucked Rick Sanchez’s face in front of everyone?” Rick popped open Morty’s button with a flick of his thumb. “Think about it, cariño. You have what they want. Why don’t we show them…”

Morty was losing his sanity. Rick murmured filth in his ear in an unbroken string in English  _ and _ Spanish (and once, Morty thought, possibly in French), and soon Morty was desperate and pliant. He let himself be turned around and watched in horrified, deeply greedy anticipation as Rick dropped to his knees at his feet. People were starting to gather, but Morty wasn’t looking at them. He just gazed down at Rick, ensnared by the open look in his eye. He was high, but he was  _ present, _ and he loved Morty unapologetically even out in front of all these people. Morty ran the backs of his fingers down Rick’s cheek, and nodded minutely. Rick, keeping his eyes locked with Morty’s, dragged down his zipper with his teeth. Morty’s breath hitched.  _ Oh shit, oh shit, _ he was really going to do this. 

Then Rick squawked as he was pulled up and away. The crowd around them had grown rowdy, and the noise suddenly rushing back in made Morty lose track for a moment of what was going on. When he focused back in, Rick and Birdperson were standing a few feet apart, glaring dangerously at one another. 

“¡¿Qué chingados, Pers?! ¡¿Cuál es tu problema?!2” Rick asked. He rolled his shoulders, setting Morty’s skin prickling, as he recognized the little bodily adjustments that preceded physical violence. Rick was getting ready for a fist fight.

“ _ My _ problem? No. Tú eres el del problema.3 I’m the one stopping you from putting all of that on Morty,” said Birdperson.

“Morty’s fine,” Rick answered tersely. “In fact, he was about to be  _ amazing, _ so if you would just let us get back to that and let us get back to that…”

When Birdperson grabbed Rick by the arm again, Morty watched in horror as Rick grew eerily still. The look on his face was disturbingly familiar--the visage of a Rick on the edge of brutality. He had seen it a thousand times before, on his grandfather’s face and the faces of the patrons at Pickled Rick’s who brawled over nothing constantly. Birdperson was in danger unless he was some kind of MMA fighter. No one could beat Rick when fists started flying. 

“This isn’t what Morty needs, Rick. You were about to expose him in front of the whole party!”

Hurriedly Morty buttoned up his pants and asserted his body between Rick and Birdperson. For a moment he thought Rick was going to push him aside, but he seemed to think better of it and he wrapped his arms around Morty and pulled him back against himself. 

“I had it under c-control. I was into it,” Morty said, hoping that the truth would knock the wind out of this argument a bit. 

“Morty, please take no offense, but you do not understand how manipulative he is. He’s  _ preying _ on you,” said Birdperson.

“You don’t know that.” Morty was uneasy as Rick held him against his chest. What if Birdperson was right? “He  _ loves _ me.”

“Rick’s not capable of that,” Birdperson said sadly, as if he had just carried in the heavy knowledge in here to lay it at Morty’s feet. 

Suddenly Rick’s face was hidden against the side of Morty’s neck, and Morty heard a pathetic sniffle. Rick whimpered once very quietly and held Morty so tightly he felt as if the breath were being squeezed out of him. Morty bristled. Rick would never admit it, but Birdperson had just come in here and  _ made him cry. _ He wasn’t going to let that stand. 

“That’s a real f-fucked up thing to say about s-s-someone,” Morty said. Rick shook his head, but Morty just laid his hand over Rick’s and reassured him. “I think you owe him an apology!”

“Your ‘boyfriend’ doesn’t love  _ anyone, _ Morty. Not even himself. When’s the last time he ate? When’s the last time he shot up? He isn’t going to start being capable of love just because he’s with someone new. He’s just using you. We all noticed the hickies. Guess the man who loves you doesn’t care that you look like a whore to everyone--”

The world tilted and Morty was on the floor, pushed aside suddenly by Rick, who unfolded his long limbs and crossed the small gulf between himself and Birdperson. He grabbed his bandmate by the shirt, hauling him in closer.

“You wanna call him that again?” Rick challenged, his voice dark and dangerous.

“I wasn’t, which you would know if you ever paid attention to me.” Birdperson pushed Rick away. 

The two men stood in a clear circle, their eyes locked, unmoving. Rick finally broke his stillness and feinted for Birdperson’s stomach. Morty watched him completely shut down before the follow through, visibly unwilling to throw a punch at his friend and ex-lover. Morty felt some relief from Rick’s reluctance, taking it as a sign that at least assault wasn’t something he ever had to fear from him. 

Rick feinted, flinched, faltered. Birdperson, on the other hand, was quick on his feet and gave Rick two good right hooks, staggering him to his knees. Once more he landed a blow, and then he was swept off his feet by a rush of partygoers who swooped in to separate the two. Morty leapt up and put his arms around Rick, pulling him away from everybody else. He leaned Rick against the wall and chased away a few stragglers. He got back just in time to see Rick spit a gob of blood onto the carpet.

“Oh geez, oh geez, oh geez,” Morty fretted. He reached up and turned Rick’s face to the side with a delicate touch; Rick flinched away from it. Morty could see, now, that Rick’s lips were split and his teeth were bloody. He prodded his nose and it seemed as if, luckily, he would be getting out of this without  _ that _ broken. His eye was already bruising. 

“It’s no big deal,” Rick said dazedly. He spit again. 

“Rick, it’s n-not ok,” Morty said. His fingers hovered over Rick’s face. “Oh geez, it’s bad.”

“Here,” said Squanchy, hurrying over to Morty. He had a kitchen towel full of ice and a small, rolled up brown paper bag. He pressed the towel into Morty’s hands and the bag into Rick’s. “Never say I never did anything for you. Now I have to go take care of BP.”

“Thanks, Squanchy,” Rick said. He reached down and took the bag, holding it fast against his side. 

“Thanks, Squanchy,” Morty echoed. He put the ice to Rick’s face as their friend moved regretfully away.

“What’s in that bag, Rick?” Morty asked, trying to stay calm. He hated having to see this, hated knowing  _ exactly _ what Rick was holding right now.

“I...Morty,” Rick begged, “please don’t make me.”

“You’re ok  _ doing _ the hard drugs; it’s just  _ admitting _ to it that you won’t do.”

“That’s not fair.” Rick’s lower lip trembled. He looked away. 

“I know it’s not.” Morty’s voice wavered. He ran his tongue over his lip, trying to calm himself down.

“I need…” Rick shifted, still avoiding Morty’s eye.

“You need to shoot up,” Morty finished.

“Yeah…”

“Come on. I’ll help you clean up, too.”

“Baby,” Rick said, reaching out and putting his arms around Morty’s shoulders and letting himself be helped to an empty bathroom.

“It’s ok, Rick.”

Morty locked the door behind them. While Rick cooked a shot Morty tried his best to ignore what was happening behind him. He transferred the remaining ice from the bloody kitchen towel into a clean face towel. He fortified himself with a deep breath and turned towards Rick. The man already had a tourniquet on his arm, sitting on the floor with his things arranged around him. Morty didn’t want to watch, but he didn’t want to leave, either, so he went to sit on the edge of the bathtub behind Rick. He tenderly touched the ice pack to Rick’s face. Rick shivered and moaned in pain.

“ _ Fuck, _ Morty, careful.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m about to take my painkillers,” Rick said, a distinct note of bitterness in his voice.

“Rick…” Morty leaned his cheek against the top of Rick’s head. “You don’t have to. We could g-g-g-go home.”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Close your eyes, ok?” Rick coaxed him when he noticed his breath starting to shake. Rick kept saying he was sorry, and that stirred Morty’s emotions. “Close your eyes for just one...second…”

Morty only had time to shed a single tear with his eyes squeezed tight before Rick finished shooting up and turned in his arms, pulling Morty close against his chest. Morty made a tiny noise of frustration, but when he tried to tug himself away Rick just held him tighter. He gave up easily and buried his face in Rick’s shoulder, sniffling. His eyes were wet.

“I want you t-to be ok,” he said.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Rick’s hands went to the fly of Morty’s jeans. Morty grabbed him by the wrists; he felt coId to the touch.

“What are you d-doing?” Morty asked.

“Wanna show you how much I love you,” Rick slurred. “Lemme show you, cariño."

"Rick…." Morty wasn't sure if he liked where this was going. "you don't have to do anything." 

"I want to.” Rick shook him off and zeroed in on his fly again. He fumbled, his usually deft fingers numb and clumsy. 

Morty looked down at Rick's face, and felt a sharp pang in his heart. Rick's eyes were vacant, shining feverishly but unfocused. The tip of his tongue was peeking out in concentration as he struggled with Morty's button. A cold hand squeezed around Morty's heart as he watched this zombie of his clever, effervescent lover. Again he grasped Rick's wrists, more firmly this time.

"No, Rick. Just stop, ok?"

“You have to,” Rick pleaded. He bowed his head and hid his face in Morty’s chest. “You have to.”

“Why? Make me un-nderstand.”

“Because he was right. Let go,” he said, pulling weakly against Morty’s firm solid. 

“Who was right? Birdperson?”

“Who else?” 

"No he wasn't." Morty was starting to feel out of his depth, here, but he threaded his fingers through Rick's and held his hands tightly. Rick shook his head, his face still hidden in Morty's chest. "God, I'm so  _ mad _ at him…"

"I don't want you to leave me," Rick said, his voice small and pale.

Morty couldn't stand this anymore. Rick didn't deserve this. He wasn't perfect, but he loved Morty. Anyone with eyes could see that. Meanwhile Birdperson had blinded himself just to spite Rick, and it was  _ killing _ him. Morty had come to recognize Rick's fragility in the time they had spent together. Birdperson had to have known about it, too, yet he had said those horrible words to him. It wasn't right.

"Rick, I have to g-go do something--" Rick's hands clenched painfully tightly around Morty's. "C'mon, Rick," Morty cajoled, leaning down close, "it's not like that, ok? I just have to t-t-t-t-talk to someone. I can get Squanchy to come sit with you." 

"Fuck Squanchy."

"I'm not leaving you, Rick. But there's something I really have to do, and it can't wait."

Rick knelt in stubborn silence, his grip on Morty's hands growing only gradually weaker. "You'll come back?" he asked, when Morty had begun to think he had passed out.

“Yes. Yes, I will come r-right back.”

Rick sat back on his heels, freeing space for Morty to stand up. Rick’s eyes followed him as he bent down to and snatched up the heroin and needle. Morty counted his blessings that Rick didn’t try to argue with him as he stuffed the baggie in his pocket and put the needle in the sink. He dropped a kiss on the top of Rick’s head and then plunged back out into the party.

The revelers had redistributed themselves around the house, and Morty brushed people off as he methodically searched the house for Birdperson. When he finally found him, he was on a couch, surrounded by a tight little knot of fans. He was saying something to them in a low voice; Morty didn’t quite pick it up over the ambient music. He put his hand flat against his stomach and took some calming breaths. He could do this. He sure was  _ mad _ enough to, even though he’d had a bit of time to wind down. Hell, he was mad enough to march in there and punch Birdperson right in the nose. Anything was possible. He curled his hands into tight fists and let a scowl spread across his face when Birdperson raised his head, finally noticing him.

“Morty. Please allow me to explain--”

“You  _ said _ all that shit knowing it w-would kill him,” Morty accused. 

“I...I didn’t mean to call you a whore. That was not my intention--”

“I-I-I-I don’t give a shit what you said about me, but you hurt Rick on purpose and I’m not gonna just forgive you for that.”

“ _ I _ hurt  _ him _ on purpose? Which one of us is the cheater, the liar--which one of us is the person who hurts people? Because I can tell you that between the two of us it is not me. I am trying to make you see sense before it is too late.”

“Well guess what?! It’s  _ already _ too late!  _ I love him _ and if you come after him again I’m g-going to fuck you up.”

He hadn’t meant for that to come out the way it did.  _ It’s too late _ didn’t exactly have a lighthearted ring to it.

“Morty, I have no wish to fight with you. Despite this regrettable difference of opinion, I enjoy your company and hope only the best for you.”

“ _ Difference of opinion?! _ That’s a human being I l-l-l-left back there crying on the damn floor with a needle in his arm! Fuck!” Morty tugged at his own hair, struggling to keep himself together. “He’s f-fucked up. You  _ know _ how fucked up he is. He doesn’t need your help if you’re just gonna keep making things w-w-worse.. He’s gonna OD one of these days if you keep pushing at him!”

“He’s going to OD one of these days, anyway!” Birdperson gesticulated angrily. “It doesn’t matter whether I tell the truth or coddle him. He’s going to kill himself, Morty. There is still time to get away before he does.”

Morty wanted to argue, but deep down he agreed. Rick was going to kill himself one of these days, whether on purpose or accidentally. Morty felt the heavy strain of caring for him, of the full weight of his fear and worry. He worried over Rick’s eating habits, his drug habits, even his fucking nightmares. It was a lot to take on. It should have made Morty run for the hills, but instead he was just falling more and more in love with Rick by the day. Rick he made Morty smile and laugh every day, even when Morty could see the effort he was putting forth just to keep moving. He loved Morty with such intense sincerity. It took Morty’s breath away. But he was still afraid to lose him, and that was what was keeping him from confessing his love, as if not saying the words would protect his heart.

“That just makes it worse,” he threw back, all his frustration flying out into the air around him. “How are you gonna live w-w-with yourself if he dies?!”

“I am not taking responsibility for his bullshit anymore. If Rick kills himself, that has nothing to do with me.”

“It’s not about responsibility, it’s about  _ compassion.” _

“That is a lie you are telling yourself, Morty.”

“All you can see is  _ what he’s already done. _ We’re more than our own pasts. R-Rick can grow and change just like anyone else. Yeah, he has to do the work himself, but you don’t have to keep knocking him down and making it way harder.”

“I know you think you’re being noble. I think this conversation is over. I don’t want either of us to say something we regret.”

“Just so you know, I’m not gonna forgive you if you keep pushing him.”

“Goodbye for now, Morty,” Birdperson said, pointedly. 

“Yeah, fuck you, too,” Morty replied. 

He didn’t know what else to do, so he turned and left Birdperson’s little court and stormed back into the party. He was still too mad, frustrated about being dismissed like a peasant, furious on Rick’s behalf in the same way he was before he marched out here. He had accomplished nothing. He pushed between dancers and shouldered past drinkers until he came back to the bathroom where he had left Rick. His heart quailed in his chest as soon as he touched the doorknob, and he turned around and sank down to the ground with his back against the door. He put his head in his hands. Rick was going to destroy himself and there was nothing Morty could do about it. Tucked away in the dark little hallway, he gave himself permission to cry. No one could see him. He let the tears fall in steady streams.

Something thunked against the door on the other side, startling Morty out of his anxiety. It swung open suddenly, and Morty tumbled onto his back, looking up at the bathroom ceiling with his legs still in the hallway. Rick was looking down at him.

“You’re crying,” Rick said. “I heard you.”

Morty considered denying it before rejecting the plan. He didn’t want to burden the beginnings of their relationship with dishonesty. He picked himself off the ground and threw himself at Rick, letting the door swing shut behind him. Rick felt so warm and alive, and the feeling of his quick body against Morty’s was beginning to chase away Morty’s fears. Why should he spend all of his time thinking about Rick’s death when Rick wanted to share his  _ life _ with him right now? Birdperson was wrong. Nothing was inevitable. And maybe Birdperson couldn’t forgive Rick, but that didn’t mean that Morty shouldn’t give him the chance to build a brighter future.

“Rick,” Morty began. His body hummed as Rick enfolded him in his strong arms.

“What is it, cariño? Why are you crying?” Rick asked, alarmed. His hand ran up and down Morty’s back, and Morty relaxed a bit into the already-familiar touch. 

“Rick, are you too high to listen to me for a m-m-minute? Are you gonna forget?”

“Morty, you have sobered me up completely. What do you have to tell me?” Rick’s fear was palpable, and Morty was regretful to have put him through it.

“Because I’m gonna be r-really mad at you if you forget all about this.”

“Morty, forget about  _ what?” _

Morty pulled back a bit and turned his eyes upwards. Rick’s eyes were still unfocused, but they were shining down at Morty ardently. With a soft answering smile growing on his face, Morty reached up and gently took Rick’s face in his hands. He was at peace with his decision. This needed to be said.

“I love you.”

Rick gasped. It was an almost comical reaction, but Morty didn’t feel like laughing. Rick’s honesty was touching. And then the glint of hunger in his eyes sent a thrill through Morty, a wind of excitement that blew around his heart. 

“Do you mean it?” Rick skimmed his fingertips over Morty’s cheek, his touch imbued with reverence. 

“I mean it.”

Slowly, holding eye contact, Rick sank to his knees in front of him. Morty leaned back against the door, suddenly weak. He didn’t think he could push him away again. Rick’s hands sneaking up under his shirt were driving him insane already. His nerves were all on end. Rick kissed the tender skin below Morty’s navel as he undid his fly. Morty was half hard by the time he got his pants down around his knees. He moaned Rick’s name when he breathed on his cock. 

“Let me show you, cariño. Let me show you how much you mean to me.” Rick sucked the head of Morty’s dick into his swollen mouth, and his tongue pirouetted around it. He let it go with a faint  _ pop _ and looked up at him. “I’ll make you feel better than anybody ever could.”   
  
Morty reached down and touched Rick’s hair. “Do you want to?  _ Really _ wan-want to?”

“Don’t make me beg, baby.”

Morty was embarrassed by the desperate noise that bubbled up in his throat. Rick,  _ a Rick, _ was begging to suck his cock. Him. Mousy little Morty Smith. How had this happened? This Rick was so beautiful, young and firm, his eyes always glowing with mischief. Yet here was  _ Rick _ , on his knees like a supplicant, palming himself through his jeans. Apparently just the thought of sucking Morty off made him hard. Rick’s split lips were slightly parted and his eyes hazy as he looked up at Morty. 

“O-k-k-k-k,” Morty stammered. “Make me feel g-good, Rick.”

“I’ll make you feel better than anyone else could.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” Morty panted. His fingers threaded through Rick’s hair lovingly.

“Fuck, baby,” Rick said with a shudder, “keep saying shit like that.” He nibbled on the jut of Morty’s hip. “You can fuck my face; don’t be afraid to hurt me.”

Morty colored, still unused to hearing things like that. Rick was so unapologetically filthy. His warm baritone could cut right through Morty’s defenses and have Morty’s dick throbbing in a second. He was hard, now, and ashamed of it. Rick was still high. This was taking advantage. He shouldn't even  _ want _ Rick in this state, with his lips puffy and bloody, but he did. He reflexively put his hand on top of Rick's head. His hair was so soft. Something about it set Morty at ease.

"Keep talking," Rick begged. He looked pathetic on his knees, his eyes pleading. He looked fragile. 

Morty's touch lightened. He didn't know why this was so important to Rick, but he was hard and Rick's breath was hot on his cock, so he resolved to stop thinking so much and just enjoy it. It seemed like they were both feeling the pull of gravity between them. It was a campfire warmth that kept them huddling together, their backs to the outside world. Fuck everyone else. Fuck Birdperson. Rick and Morty against the world.

Morty gasped when Rick took the head of his cock back into his mouth. Rick sucked gently at it, lavishing him with attention. His tongue circled and lapped at him, feeling out the contours of him with care. Morty whimpered and leaned back against the door. Already he didn't want to be standing anymore; his legs were quaking.

"You're... _ fuck _ , you feel so good, Rick. Y-y-y-y-you're perfect." Rick made a small sound that vibrated Morty's shaft. "I love you."

Rick sobbed once, sending a string of bloody saliva dripping down his chin. He kept pressing forward until his nose was buried in Morty's scant pubic hair. He choked loudly around the head of Morty's dick, his throat squeezing rhythmically. Morty's fingers tightened in his hair, which seemed to spur him on.

"Rick," he moaned. Overwhelmed, he shut his eyes, shrinking the world to the pinpoint that was his body. He was filling with pleasure like hot syrup. His thighs were tingling, and there was a sense of pressure building in his balls. "Oh fuck, Rick, I can't, I can't. I need to sit, I'm gonna fall."

Rick pulled back, and Morty slid down to sit on the floor. Rick pulled his jeans down further and nuzzled against his bare thigh. "Tell me I'm the only one, baby." 

Morty mewled when Rick worked him back into his mouth. His hands shook as he ran his fingers through Rick's soft tresses, trying to impart some praise with his touch. "You're the only one, oh god, please--please, I need to come, I need to come so bad. I--" Morty hiccuped a sob. He was all fire inside, burning pleasure crackling in his pelvis. "No one else,  _ please, _ no one else, only you."

Rick caressed Morty's balls, getting his fingers slick with the pinkish saliva that was running everywhere. A moment later he was circling Morty's entrance, and the boy groaned at the slow glide of penetration as he reached deep inside of him. A simple flick of the wrist had Morty flooding with pleasure. He panted and whimpered his way toward orgasm, barreling downhill towards it. Rick's clever tongue twisted cries from deep inside his chest. 

"Rick Rick Rick," he cried, "don't stop, don't stop, don't stop." 

Forgetting himself, he started to thrust his hips, driving hard into Rick's throat. Rick gagged but held on, matching Morty's thrusts. Morty watched Rick's face with avid erotic fascination, watched tears stream down his flushed cheeks. He whimpered rhythmically, utterly overwhelmed. He was so close,  _ so close… _

With a full-throated cry, Morty spilled down Rick's throat. His toes twitched in time to his pulse. He rocked his hips, milking the last of his orgasm from his body. Pleasure washed through his body, slowly declining from a tsunami to a pleasant lapping at the shore. When he came back to himself, he realized he was holding Rick's head, and he let it go. Rick sat back and wiped his chin on his forearm. Even like this, red faced, half suffocated, and drooling, Morty thought Rick looked beautiful. He couldn't stop watching this creature who was, improbably, all his. Rick kissed him, and he could taste himself on his tongue.

"That was...holy shit," said Morty. Rick's hand alighted on his cheek and he nuzzled into it.

"I know, right?" Rick's voice had grown husky. His eyes were laden with sorrow. Morty thought maybe that was because he was waiting for reciprocation, but Rick caught his wrists when he started reaching. "No."

"Are you sure?" Morty knew his skills weren't up to par and he probably couldn't get Rick off this way, but he wanted to give back, to show Rick his appreciation. 

"No," Rick repeated. "I don't--I just want you to...I... _ fuck."  _ Tears gathered in Rick's eyes. He wiped at them, a sharp gesture made with shaking fingers. "This is the only thing I…"

"Don't. Don't say that. I-I-I-I-I won't touch you if you don't want me to, but don't say that." It was an awkward conversation to have with his dick hanging out, so he hastily lifted his hips and pulled his jeans up. Maybe he shouldn't have gone through with this. Guilt started to creep in at the edges of his mind like a low rolling fog. 

"That's all anyone ever wanted from me until Pers. I tried with him, but I couldn't be anything but a fucking whore, and now I have  _ you  _ and I'm so scared I'm gonna lose you. So please,  _ please _ don't leave me. I'll fuck you better than anyone else ever could."

"Rick," Morty sighed. He reached out and gathered Rick to him, smiling to himself at how eagerly Rick laid his head on his shoulder. The warmth and trust Rick was suddenly showing him assuaged some of Morty’s guilt. He hadn’t  _ really _ taken advantage of his high boyfriend, right? "I'm not going to leave you. I love you. Those words r-r-really mean something to me, y'know?" 

Morty wasn't sure how Rick had blown through all of his carefully laid defenses with the speed of a hurricane. The naked sincerity of Rick's devotion probably had something to do with it. He didn't feel afraid that Rick would hurt him, not after the way the man had pined for him. Which was probably foolish, truth be told. Rick had cheated on Birdperson. He would probably cheat on Morty, too. But for now Morty felt at ease with his lover, this broken man who wore his heart on his sleeve.

"I know." Rick sounded sleepy, and Morty began to rock him back and forth to soothe him. "I just..."

"I know," Morty echoed. "I don't want to lose you, either."

"Morty?"

"Yeah, Rick?"

"Can we just go watch a movie back at the hotel?"

"Of course we can."

Morty privately wished Rick had asked hours ago, though he understood that the parties were a part of Rick's job. Still, skipping this one would have saved everyone a world of hurt. He just hoped the damage could be undone, despite the hot disk of anger that still smouldered in his chest. He couldn't help feeling like he had come between what could have been a recovering friendship. Then Rick craned upward to kiss him, and Morty changed his mind.

Fuck that guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Check out the ass on him, bro.  
> 2\. What the fuck, Pers? What's your problem?  
> 3\. You're the one with the problem.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me this far, dear readers! That health problem I mentioned last time is in full swing, still, and I think I am gonna fall a little behind after I release next week's chapter. I'll try really hard to get back on track as soon as possible!


	11. The Same White Pills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning in the End Notes
> 
> Hey guys! I'm pleased to still be on schedule for now. I'm gonna try really hard to keep it up. Thanks for sticking with me! ^_^

For the past two weeks, since his fight with Birdperson, Rick had become a hermit. He didn't ride the tour bus. He was the last one to arrive at sound check and the first one out the door after encore. He skipped signings and a paid 'meet and greet.' Morty gently tried to get him to leave the room, but Rick told him in no uncertain terms that right now he could either have a boyfriend who went places or a boyfriend who ate. That shut him up.

He laid on their hotel bed with his head hanging over the edge, smoking a cigarette while he watched an upside-down image of Morty. The boy was standing, naked, at the bar mixing Rick a gin and tonic. That stop on the Citadel to grab the good gin was totally paying off; Rick had been drinking it all morning just to watch Morty refill it. He looked so domestic standing at the counter fussing over his drink, and he knew how to make it exactly to Rick’s taste--though Rick tried not to think about  _ why _ he knew that without even asking. He was retroactively jealous of every other Rick who had wandered through Morty’s life. 

The world spun dizzily around him as he rolled onto his stomach to accept the drink and he brought it to his lips. For a moment he closed his eyes and savored the way the fresh, piney flavor of gin complemented the round, mellow taste of cigarette smoke on his tongue. It was barely noon and he was already drunk, but he reasoned with himself that he needed to be if he was expecting to get through the fucking concert tonight. He still got a pang straight through his heart when he touched on the subject of Birdperson, as if he had poked a bad tooth. Then he looked up at Morty, who was smiling fondly down at him. Their eyes met, and like usual Rick was the first one to look away. Morty’s eyes were so loving, so  _ adoring, _ that Rick couldn’t stand to meet them for very long. He felt seen, flayed alive under that gentle gaze. His heart stuttered out an uneven tattoo. He slurped up the rest of his G&T and put the glass on the ground. Reaching out, he got his arms around Morty and pulled him closer, careful not to burn him with his cigarette..

“C’mere, baby,” he cooed. He cocked his head and nibbled on the point of Morty’s hip. “Want you again…”

“Rick, you can’t. W-w-w-we can’t.” Morty’s body pivoted away from him partway. He covered his dick with his hands as if Rick hadn’t seen it a hundred times by now. “We have to get to the venue, Rick! I  _ said _ that was the last drink. I have to be there to set up.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Morty. It’s barely morning there yet. We have plenty of time.”

“We have to check into the new hotel, and I’m called at 7AM.”

Rick turned onto his back, took a drag, and pouted up at Morty. “But I’m horny.” He reached down and toyed with his partial erection, giving the most pathetic puppy face that he could. 

Morty laughed and reached down to touch Rick’s hair. “Y-y-y-you’re always horny, Rick. Don’t you ever get t-tired?”

“I’ll never get tired of that sweet little twink ass. Come here and let me eat it.”   
  
Morty turned three shades of pink, and Rick grinned wide. At least he’d gotten one victory in--he’d flustered him. “ _ Rick!” _ he squeaked. When Rick reached out to grab a handful of the ass in question, Morty slapped his hand away.

“You seemed to like it last night, as I recall.”

“I like it  _ when it’s happening, _ but it’s so e-e-embarrassing…” Moty took a shuddering breath. “You know you don’t  _ have _ to do that just because I like it...right?”

“Baby, I could eat you out all day. Maybe you’d like that?” Rick was starting to really wind himself up. He took a shaking drag of his cigarette and kept stroking himself, incrementally faster and harder, rolling his foreskin back to tease the head. “I could tie you down and tease you until you couldn’t take it anymore, and then I’d leave and come back later to do it all over again. Bet you’d love that, you little pervert.”

“Me?!  _ I’m _ the pervert? Wh-which one of us is coming up with this stuff, Rick?” Morty scoffed, amused and embarrassed by the look of it.

“I notice you didn’t say ‘no.’” Rick leaned a little farther back and ground out the butt of the cigarette in the glass of slowly melting ice.

“I...I....” Morty spluttered, going pink all over again. 

“Knew it. Don’t you wanna be a  _ good boy _ for me, Morty?”

“Oh geez…” Morty’s breath hitched. 

Rick reached out and pulled Morty closer by the backs of his thighs. He craned his neck and left a soft, lingering kiss on the tip of Morty’s cock. Then he tilted his head and let Morty’s erection brush his cheek in what he knew was a fetching way. He looked up into those honeyed eyes.   
  
“Let me suck you off,” Rick said. “C’mon, baby. Cariño. Papi wants you.”

“Fuck you, R-Rick,” Morty answered. Despite his words, he took himself in hand and smeared precome on Rick’s cheek, a look of deep satisfaction on his face. He brushed the head against Rick’s lips, and Rick tried to chase it with his tongue. “You know you’re not--”

_ Bang, Bang, Bang _

“ _ Housekeeping!” _ came the call. “Mister Sanchez, you’re supposed to be checked out by now!”

“Better answer her,” Rick said in a low voice. He gently took the head of Morty’s cock into his mouth, rolling it with his soft tongue.

_ Bang Bang Bang _

“Mister Sanchez, you were supposed to check out two hours ago. We need to clean!”

Morty backed off, and squeezed his erection to try and get a little bit of gratification. Rick reached for him again, but Morty batted his hands away and took another step back. For a moment, Rick frowned. He was about to lose, here, he could tell. He felt petulant as he rolled up his foreskin and gave himself what he was sure would be a last few strokes.

“One m-m-m-m-minute,” Morty stammered. “We’re c-coming out right now.” He narrowed his eyes pointedly at Rick. 

He rolled his eyes. “Fine, Morty, Jesus. Buzzkill.”

Rick slipped off of the bed and dug in his suitcase, grumbling to himself in Spanish. He didn’t like being turned down. It fucked with his self-esteem. He frowned the whole way through getting dressed and picking up the belongings that he had left lying about. Morty had been much neater and it only took him about a minute to be ready. Rick had to argue him out of starting to clean the room. That’s what the maid service was for.    
  
An hour and two portal jumps later they were at the venue, and Rick was still in a mood. He gave Morty a cursory kiss goodbye and sent him off to do his job, while Rick slumped angry in an arena seat. He knew that he was being irrational, but he felt so rejected. Morty had just pushed him away, and in that moment he became aware of what a pathetic slut he looked like. Rick had been embarrassed, ashamed to be left there holding his own dick, making a fool of himself. Now he felt like everyone could see him for what he really was. Every glance that bounced off of him made him more and more ashamed of himself.   
  
The day passed. Rick drank from his flask, pounding back liquor and glowering at Morty as he flitted about the room doing his job. Craft services approached him while they were cleaning up after lunch, and he felt obligated to take a plate. He picked at the meal and in the end ate the cake and the fried poku and the little packet of nuts in a binge that he knew he was sure to regret later. Right now, though, it was the only thing that soothed him. Morty had him practically stuffing his face all the time. He was going to have to start running or something.   
  
His phone rang. He checked the caller ID. Fuck. It was Moshi Wallec, his manager. Reluctantly, Rick pressed ‘answer.’ It was every bit as bad as he’d feared. Moshi chewed him out for all of his behavior--the way he’d been blowing off his responsibilities, the drug rumors.  _ The tabloid article _ .

“What? What article?”

“ _ Why didn’t you tell me Birdperson  _ **_punched you out in public_ ** _.” _

Oh. That. 

_ “Hope you’re proud of yourself. That little boytoy of yours is a public figure now, too.” _

No.  _ Oh god, no _ . Morty was going to kill him. Worse, he was going to  _ leave _ him. His heart was thudding erratically, pounding against his ribs in a syncopated rhythm. He should have been more careful. He should have kept Morty more secret. He shouldn’t have acted out. In a daze, he heard himself promising his manager that he would be at the party that night, behaving himself. Outside of himself, he stared down at the phone in his hands for minutes after his manager hung up. Still unthinking, he thumbed open the messenger app and scrolled down. His last conversation with Birdperson was from four months ago. He stared at it mindlessly for a moment before his brain zeroed back in on the present moment. He read it three times.

>> _ Why are you doing this? Come back home, baby. We can talk this out. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. _

God, Birdperson's last text was even sadder than Rick remembered. He felt a growing sense of guilty unease that demanded his attention like a pebble in his shoe.  _ Morty, _ he reminded himself. He had to do this. He had to do it for Morty. With a shuddering breath, he began to write.

>>You can go eat a dick for what you did to morty.

He licked the salty, sweet residue off of the inside of his snack pouch, eyes glued to the screen. When the notification popped up that Birdperson was typing a return message, Rick felt his torso inflating like a balloon. He wished he'd gone to piss before this, because his bladder felt loose. He trembled with anger. Or maybe it was fear. 

>> _ I didn't do anything to Morty. I tried to tell you that. I was trying to warn you both. There's no reason to swear at me.  _

>> _ I will not be rehashing this fight with you. _

>> _ If you cannot speak to me like an adult then I'll have to block your number. Please think before you respond. _

"Tch." Birdperson was still trying to play this off? Rick wasn't about to let him off the hook.

>>You can fucking slander me all you want and it's whatever but morty's not a public figure so fuck you for dragging him into whatever petty shit this is. I thought you were better than that but i guess now i know where i stand with you

>> _ I have no idea what you're talking about.  _

>> _ Are you high? _

>>You're seriously going to go with that? That's what you want to say to me?

>> _ Rick, what are you talking about? _

>> _ You have barely spoken to me lately. Did you just text me to start a fight? _

>> _ I'm busy right now.  _

>>Fuck you

>>Asshole

>>Morty's going to leave me

>>You couldn't just keep him out of it

>> _ Calm down, please. _

>>Nunca te voy a perdonar.1

>>If he leaves

>>I dont know what ill do

Rick felt control and sanity leaving his body, escaping through a leak in his heart. His thumbs were moving faster than his brain. Tears cast a bright halo on the screen. He felt sick to his stomach. He wished he had eaten less. Maybe he should go throw up. Purging was like a special treat to him--he tried not to do it often in a bid to maintain his perfect teeth. It would feel so good, though…

>> _ Did Morty break up with you? Are you OK? _

>> _ Would you like me to come talk to you? Where are you? _

>>Dont pretnd

>>'morty is in the tabloids 

>>Because of you

>>Fuck you

>>Pers

>>Por qué hiciste esto 2

>> _ Yo no hice nada.3 If Morty Is in the tabloids it is because of your own actions, Rick. But you didn’t consider him once, did you? _

To Rick’s sick satisfaction, Birdperson was getting sucked into the fight. He’d known he would. He always had. This was the only thing that Rick could do to punish Birdperson for wrecking his relationship. He felt cold all through the center of himself. 

>>You

>>Sent pictures

>>Just admit it you did this just to hurt me

>> _ Contrary to what you believe, the galaxy does not revolve around you. My life doesn’t revolve around you. _

>> _ You made a spectacle of yourself and got yourself in the papers. You’re in there half the time, anyway. This is no different. _

>> _ You never cared when we were together. _

Rick winced. Birdperson wasn’t lying. Rick had played the tabloid badboy happily enough until this particular moment. He was flooded with shame, and that just made him more angry. 

>>shut up

>>you want to throw that in my face?

>>I know what I did

>>thats not what this is about

>>Its about morty

>> _ I don't believe that for a second. You've known Morty for less than two months. _

>> _ It was a mistake to think we could work together so soon. Squanchy deserves better than this. After this tour I'm done with The Flesh Curtains.  _

He stared at his phone in horror. Oh god, what had he done? It was a repeat of history, a refrain that they both knew well. Rick pushed, Birdperson fell, Rick internalized yet another layer of self hatred. This moment was going to be etched into his memory for a long time, a new spectre in Rick's nightly haunting. He was going to be sick.

Backstage, Rick knelt in front of a toilet, staring sullenly down at the water. The whole venue was old and hadn't been renovated in decades, and everything seemed dingy and dirty from wear. This was disgusting and pathetic of him, and he was going to do it anyway. He leaned over, pushed the hair back from his face with one hand while he shored the other down his throat. He had so little gag reflex left that he was having trouble triggering it this time. His stomach contracted, but he was struggling to actually get anything up. 

The door swung open. In his stall, he felt anonymous and safe enough to stay on his knees. Soft footfalls crossed the floor and stopped just behind him, on the other side of the door. 

"Rick?" came Morty's voice.

Rick took his fingers out of his mouth and sat back on his haunches. He was safe from view, but he also felt seen,  _ caught. _ His insides twisted and he just barely had time to throw himself over the toilet. His meager lunch hurt coming up. The relief he felt was instant.

"Aw geez, Rick. Can you open the door?" 

Rick reached up and back and blindly fumbled the lock to the stall door. He retched again as Morty slipped in behind him. Morty's little fingers gathered Rick's hair and held it out of his face. Rick emptied himself in gradually shorter and shorter heaves that eventually trailed off, leaving him panting and drooling and feeling blissfully hollow. 

Morty reached into Rick's vision and dabbed at his chin with a wad of toilet paper. Rick turned his face away, but Morty stubbornly followed him, cleaning the snot and spit and puke off of his face. Rick fell back onto his ass and leaned against the corner of the stall. He looked up at Morty, gap mouthed and stupid.

"Are you sick?" Morty fretted. He pressed the back of his palm to Rick's sweaty forehead in search of a fever. "Do you need to c-call off the concert?"

"I would never. I'm fine." Rick pulled himself to his feet. He backed Morty out of the stall and brushed past him. At the sink he rinsed his mouth and spat. 

He was irritated that his privacy had been intruded upon. Part of the pleasure and relief of the act had been eroded by Morty's presence. It wasn't quite the catharsis he'd been hoping for. He blew his nose and bent down to swish another mouthful of warm water. Morty shifted from foot to foot behind him.

"Birdperson texted me that I should check the bathrooms for you." 

Rick locked eyes with Morty in the mirror. "Oh yeah? Que imbécil."

Morty came up behind him and put his arms around. Rick felt him nuzzle against his back.

"Rick...I want you to take care of yourself. If y-you're too sick to play--"

"The show must go on, baby. I'm  _ fine. _ It's nothing."

How long could he keep the article a secret? He hadn't even read it yet and he was already practically spilling his secrets out of the guilt that hung like an albatross around his neck. Morty kissed him between his shoulder blades, and the harrowing weight increased. He turned in Morty's arms and pulled him against his chest, taking on the safe and increasingly familiar role of comforter. He kissed the boy's forehead. Morty sighed contentedly, and Rick knew he couldn't do it. Morty would have to find out organically, because Rick would never have the balls to tell him. 

"Gross," Morty teased.

"Next one is on the lips," Rick answered, while wearing a grin that he didn't feel. 

Arm in arm, leaning into one another like co-conspirators, the two bantered their way out of the bathroom and down the hall. Rick felt himself slip out of alignment as they parted ways for sound check.

The stage that night was a battleground. Rick played his fury, and Birdperson sang from the depths of his soul. Squanchy kept up, in an impressive showing of talent. The intensity of the band's performance was electrifying; the audience lost their minds, and still the band wound them tighter and tighter with their intensity to a dizzying crescendo.

It was their best performance yet. 

Rick was drenched in sweat and exhausted by the time he retreated to the dressing room. The last thing in the multiverse that he wanted to do was go to a party where he would inevitably run into Birdperson. Everything was bad enough already. 

It wasn't fair. When he'd signed for this tour, he had imagined that it would make him happier than he'd ever been. He was rich and famous, and the open road called to him as ever. When had he lost control of his life? Ages ago, if he were being honest, but he had never  _ felt _ out of control before. Now his flaws were arrayed before his eyes, boldened and unmistakable. Birdperson wouldn't let him forget them, and Morty made him ashamed of them. Morty was so good and so pure that Rick couldn't help but see his own filth in comparison. It kept him awake at night, acid chewing at the walls of his stomach while he stared at an unfamiliar ceiling. Was this what it felt like to want to be a better man? If so, Rick hated it. The feeling chafed. It was like a corset laced too light, squeezing the breath out of him. He was so lost.

Rick sat in the dressing room and stared at himself in the mirror for a long time. When had he stopped being someone that he recognized? His face looked gaunt to him. Eyeliner stained the dark bags under his eyes even darker. He was pale. Waxen.

He couldn't keep doing this to Morty. Morty deserved better than this skeletal addict he had become. Yet, even as the thoughts swirled through his mind, he sucked down belt after belt of whiskey from his flask in an automatic, comforting gesture.

The dressing room door swung open and Squanchy came inside. Rick could see that his bandmate was already high. Good. He was far less likely to lecture in that state. Rick turned in his seat and put on his best smile for his friend. If Birdperson really wanted out, let him tell Squanchy himself. Rick wasn't about to act all mournful and wring his hands when Squanchy probably didn't know about Birdperson's threat, anyway.

"Feeling good?" Rick said, while Squanchy climbed into the next chair over. To busy his hands, Rick set about fixing his makeup. A little concealer would go a long way, he figured.

"Not at all," came the reply, Squanchy's tone conversational.

"Que pasa?"

"Too much drama. How did you manage to squanch it worse than the breakup? I wish we could just be the three amigos again." 

"Yeah…me, too." Rick sighed. His hands suddenly felt so heavy. "I never meant for this to happen." It was as close to an apology as Squanchy was going to get, and they both knew it.

"Just do me a solid and make it work with Morty. I'm gonna be royally squanched if you put everyone through all this shit and just throw it away."

"No pressure," Rick snorted. 

"All pressure." 

"It's not like I can say that's not fair. But…" Rick interrupted himself with a shaky breath. This conversation was veering sharply toward more intimacy than he was strictly comfortable with. "No te preocupes. I'm serious about this."

"Alright." Squanchy's tone was tight, but Rick was just grateful that he was going to drop it. "I was looking for you, anyway. That girl--Morty's friend-- said she heard you were looking for a Ztardust hookup." Squanchy produced a small baggie containing two round white pills that sparkled as if they were shot through with glitter. 

"Holy shit, dude." Rick had asked around before the show. Ztardust was Rick's favorite party drug, and he was going to need all the social lubricant he could get tonight. He held the pills up to the light, examining them with a critical eye. They looked legit to him. Inferior product usually had a reddish cast to the sparkle, but this one had a perfect teal glimmer. "You want one?"

Squanchy shook his head. "Not tonight. I got a nice fractal dust buzz squanching. Don't wanna muddy it up." 

"Suit yourself. Morty can have the other." Rick shrugged. He shook one of the pills into his palm and stuffed the other in his pocket--there was just enough room in his tight jeans. He popped his pill into his mouth and swallowed it dry.

An hour later, Rick had no idea where he was. Colors were loud, and sounds were painful. He kept fading in and out. One moment he was in the middle of a crowd of strange people dancing. Was it his imagination, or were some of these people...not people? There were so many hues and shapes all around him. The world tilted, blurred, and he was naked and shivering in a swimming pool. Another twist of the light, and he was surprised to find himself on his knees in a bathroom, retching violently but not bringing anything up. He was baking with fever, his guts aching. He blinked and he was in a dim bedroom, watching blood drip from his nose onto his lax hands. The door opened. He looked up.

***

Morty had never seen Rick go this hard. The man was a force of nature, tearing through the party like a tornado, wearing a puckish grin all the while. Morty trailed shyly in his wake. He hated this house party. He kept bumping into people; now he smelled like beer from when he ran smack into someone who spilled their drink all over him. When he complained about it, Rick dragged him outside and made him get into the pool 'to wash the smell off.' Now Morty was sodden, cold, and pissed. Rick was ill! He didn't need to be here. It wasn't good for him. But every time Morty tried to pull him aside, Rick just brushed him off. Eventually, Morty gave up. And when Rick disappeared in search of a bathroom, Morty took the sparkly pill Rick had handed to him at the beginning of the night. Fuck it. He might as well try to salvage this hell-night. This stuff would either make him pass out or turn him fun. A win either way. He didn't spend any energy on the thought that Rick would  _ have _ to pay attention to him now. That would have been beneath him.

The song blaring in the next room changed once and then again, and Morty realized gradually that Rick had been gone for a long time. He waited a few more minutes before diving into the crowd. He had to force his way through the house, beginning a slow, methodical search of the rooms, all while a variety platter of aliens took his picture and called out to him. For a second, he wondered how they knew his name, but quickly put that thought out of his mind as he picked his way upstairs. Someone probably just overheard Rick saying it and spread it around. 

At the end of the upstairs hallway a door stood ajar. With an undefinable sinking feeling, Morty crept towards it. A feminine giggle flitted through the doorway towards him. Holding his breath, Morty pushed the door open. 

Rick was sitting on the edge of an unmade bed. There was blood on his face, shirt, and hands. He was staring vacantly into the middle-distance while a four-armed alien woman sank to her knees between his thighs. She looked over her shoulder and smirked at Morty.

"Wanna share?" she asked him. "I saw you together earlier." 

Morty was struck dumb, frozen and quivering with some sickening blend of terror and fury. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. He set one foot back, and then the other. Rick's head swiveled unsteadily towards Morty. The man's mouth twitched up in a smile but fell slack again immediately. 

"Cariño," Rick slurred. As if nothing was wrong. As if he didn't have some woman between his legs, going for his belt.

"No," Morty whimpered. This couldn't be happening. He had trusted Rick, he had believed him. Morty was so  _ stupid. _ He should have known better. 

Fuck this.

He ran into the opposite wall of the hallway, bounced off of it and scrambled to turn and run. He was nearly to the open-plan stairs when Squanchy rounded the corner. They collided. Morty's ankle turned, and his body dipped to accommodate the misstep. 

"Where's--" Squanchy began.

"Back th-th-th-there. Cheating on me." Morty continued to hurry past. 

"What the  _ fuck," _ Squanchy swore. "Stay there. I'm gonna get him." 

Nope. Morty waited for Squanchy to turn his back and then took the stairs down two at a time. His vision was beginning to blur, his heart thudding woodenly. He grew even more unsure on his feet as he picked his way through the house. The pill was kicking in. God, he was so stupid for taking it in the first place. He was ashamed of himself, hated how far he'd been pulled into this dark party Iifestyle. Stars seemed to twinkle before his eyes, in a veil between himself and everything else. He teetered back and forth, smiling out into the sea of people as camera flashes bloomed in the dim room. 

"Holy shit,  _ Morty." _ Morty couldn't quite place the voice, and he couldn't quite see the face, but someone soft helped him keep his feet.

It was impossible to say how much time had passed, Morty only surfacing occasionally before being shushed and soothed each time. He shivered and sweated, flushed with fever. He was vaguely aware of being under a heavy blanket, and he lashed out at it, flailing his limbs to push it off of himself. Somewhere in the room two people were having a sharp, stage-whispered conversation.

"I'm telling you, he's gonna be  _ fine." _

"He puked on me  _ twice. _ Twice! He's not ok and I'm calling an ambulance."

"Do you have any idea how much trouble I could be in if the cops come?"

"You should have thought of that before you did this. I can't believe this shit! You couldn't just let it rest."

"He's an asshole! I just wanted him to get his for once. It wasn't supposed to turn out this way."

Morty hugged his arms around himself and shuddered. What was going on? 

"Rick?" he called out. He needed Rick, needed him  _ right now. _

"Fuck," hissed one. "That's it, I'm going. Deal with your mess."

"Fine. Go." 

"Rick?" That wasn't Rick's voice. Where was he? Morty was starting to seize up with anxiety.

The bed dipped, and Morty blinked rapidly to clear his vision. A figure appeared out of the haze. 

"Mehva?" he croaked. Why would Mehva be inside his and Rick's hotel room? "Where's Rick?"

"Don't worry about that right now. Just sit up and have some of this water."

It was a struggle, but Morty was thirsty, so he propped himself against the headboard and accepted a glass of room temperature water that might as well have been ambrosia. It soaked into his dry, clumsy tongue and a sense of relief came over him, soft and sweet like April rain. He hadn't realized how painfully dry his mouth was. His vision was clearer now, too. Mehva was a little fuzzy around the edges, and the room outside of the sphere of soft light surrounding the bedside lamp was just dark static, but it was much better than before.

"I don't understand what's going on," he said when he finally quenched his sudden thirst. "Where's Rick?"

"He sent you home. You got sick."

"Oh." Morty  _ felt _ sick, and he must have been even worse off than he initially thought, because he couldn't remember anything after coming out of the pool at the party. Maybe he and Rick both had some kind of allen flu. "When is h-h-h-he coming home?"

"Who knows." Mehva took Morty's empty cup away. She twirled it, passed it back and forth between her hands, tapped ringingly on the glass.

"Oh."

"You know he's awful, right?"

"Rick?"

"Yeah."

"You don't know him. He l-loves me."

"Does he really? I mean, you wouldn't shut up about what a dick he is until a couple of weeks ago. He's just another rich asshole, and you're what he wants and you're letting him just get it!"

"Mehva…" Morty squinted at her. She was upset about something, clearly, though Morty couldn't pursue that train of thought. His head hurt and his mind was cloudy like brackish water.

"I'm tired of people like him winning all the time, Morty! It's just  _ not fair." _

"People like Rick?" Humans, maybe? Or men? 

"Spoiled, famous rich kids."

Morty let out a hollow-sounding but genuine laugh. "Spoiled? Rick's not s-spoiled."

"He gets everything he fucking wants."

"You don't know him," Morty repeated. "He's not like that. He's...he's  _ hurting. _ But he takes c-c-care of me." Morty clasped his hands to his chest. His Its curled upwards in a gentle smile.

"Oh yeah? Then why is he back at that fucking house  _ cheating on you _ right now?"

"What?"

"You heard me. He probably wanted to stay in the papers. You're nothing but tabloid fodder to him."

"Tabloid fodder?" Morty was feeling rapidly more and more lost in this conversation. 

"Did you not see? He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me  _ what, _ Mehva?"

She put the glass down on the nightstand and took out her phone. She pulled something up on the internet and held it out to show Morty. He saw a photo of himself being held by Rick, standing between him and Birdperson that disastrous party a few weeks ago. It was a crappy cell phone shot, clearly not professional.

Morty felt strange looking at it. He was too high for this shit; somehow the photo didn't seem real--or, at least, it didn't seem like it was  _ of him _ . He barely recognized himself in the little waif with the bruised neck, nor Rick in the perilously thin figure wrapped around him. God, they really were a mess, weren't they? Well, if they were both going to hell in a handbasket, they might as well go together.

"Rick wouldn't cheat on me. H-h-h-he loves me." Morty shoved the phone back at Mehva. He didn't want to look at that picture anymore. He laid back against the pillows, regretting ever waking up.

Mehva turned her phone around. The screen was reflected brightly in her round black eyes. "'The altercation seemed to revolve around Rick's new boytoy, a human named Morty Smith, said a witness. Birdperson claimed that Morty is a prostitute hired by Rick to accompany him on the Flesh Curtains' current tour,'" she read. "Sanchez seemed intoxicated, stumbling and slurring his words, according to one partygoer. It was been speculated that he and Smith have been feeding off of--'"

"Enough, geez, I g-g-get the point." The room was fading in and out of focus in time with Morty's heartbeat.

"Do you, though? Guys like Rick get off on this stuff. And now I'm pissed, because he's smearing this shit all over you, and  _ whatever _ , even though we never worked out I still  _ like _ you as a person and you don't deserve this tabloid bullshit."

Morty put his hand to his forehead. He didn't like any of this, but it was hard to think it through. He  _ knew _ Rick, didn't he? They were still 'honeymooning,' sure, but they had been through a lot of pain together. They had both been tested and yet they still chose each other. Fate had tied them together. That was all Morty knew right now.

"Where's Rick?" Morty asked, beginning to cry. "I want Rick. I want Rick."

Mehva sighed. "Seriously, rumor is he was upstairs at the party getting his dick sucked by some rando."

"Right. Just like the rumor that I'm a p-prostitute. Totally believable." Morty scrubbed at his face with his hand, frustrated with his tears. "If you're going to--"

Without warning, the door flew open so hard that it bounced off the wall. Wreathed in gentle light from the hall, two figures stood in the doorway. Morty was expecting Rick as soon as he realized what was going on, but he had to squint to realize that he was accompanied by  _ Birdperson _ . Rick's arm was over Birdperson's shoulders and his head was nodding loosely as he stood. Birdperson dragged Rick across the room, pinning Mehva with a look. Squanchy brought up the rear, closing the door behind himself as Birdperson put Rick down on the edge of the bed opposite where Mehva had just leapt to her feet. 

Rick laid back and turned his eyes toward Morty, and Morty got lost in his adoring smile, ignoring the smear of blood on his upper lip. He curled toward his lover and smiled back, even as voices were raised somewhere behind him. 

"Where were you?" Morty asked. Mehva had rattled him more than he let on. Thoughts kept slipping away from him, though, and he was having trouble following the thread of them. He was just seeing their gently lapping wake. 

"I…" Morty saw the same struggle behind Rick's eyes. "I don't know," the man admitted. "In a car."

"If I hadn't gone looking for him then, she would have  _ raped him!" _ Squanchy's voice had grown shrill enough to punch through the foggy walls around Morty's mind. 

"That's not my fault!" Mehva shouted back. She sounded halfway to hysterical. "I already told you  _ I didn't know!" _

"We do not believe you." Even Birdperson seemed tense, stressed.

"If you didn't know, why did you squanch off with Morty instead of coming to find Rick?"

"I...I wanted to--"

"Think carefully before you answer," Birdperson said, his voice tight.

"Look, I wasn't taking advantage of him. I swear!" Morty finally looked over. Birdperson and Squanchy had Mehva literally backed into a corner. She was gesturing desperately toward her own chest, imploring them to believe her. "I just wanted to get him out of the party."

"I  _ still _ don't believe you" snapped Squanchy.

"Baby," Rick said, suddenly hovering over him, "your nose is bleeding."

Birdperson peeled away from Mehva when he heard that. He knelt beside the bed. Rick moved back away from the two of them; Morty could feel fear in his stiffening posture. 

"This is very important, Morty," Birdperson said slowly, "Did you take the pill that Rick gave you?"

"I-I-I don't know," Morty stammered. Why couldn't he remember anything?

"Where were you keeping it?" While Morty turned his pockets out, Birdperson turned over his shoulder and addressed Mehva. "Get a washcloth."

"It's not here," said Morty.

"No," Rick breathed. He drew closer to Morty, suddenly willing to approach Birdperson. Morty was filled with unease. "Oh my god, are you _fucking kidding me?!?_ _Ztardust poisoning?!?"_

"What?" Morty yelped. Poisoning? That sounded really bad.

"We found out she bought two Gazorpian doses this afternoon."

"What the  _ fuck!" _ Rick shouted. Tangling and untangling his limbs like an unsure foal, he clambered off of the bed. 

Mehva and Squanchy came back into the room with a washcloth. Squanchy handed it off to Birdperson, who helped Morty hold it to his nose while Rick rounded on the roadie. Morty watched Rick tower above her and he filled with trepidation. Rick's face was red with fury. His hands were shaking. He swayed on his feet, though, and his voice slipped and slid through every word. Not quite as dangerous as usual, Rick was nevertheless a threat to everyone in the room. He was blacked out, high on an unfamiliar drug possibly to the point of  _ poisoning _ . Morty didn't like Mehva's chances.

"Woah woah woah," she said, making a warding gesture and backpedaling. "I didn't do anything!"

_ "You could have killed Morty," _ Rick growled. 

"Hey," said Squanchy, quickly asserting himself between the two of them. "You've gotta squanch down, wey. We're not killing anyone tonight."

"Thank you," Mehva said, voice quavering.

"Don't squanch it, bitch. I just walked in on my buddy getting  _ raped _ because of you. I ought to let him murder you."

"Raped?" Morty struggled to sit up. Birdperson helped him, leaving a reassuring hand on Morty's shoulder. He looked back at him, stricken. "What does he mean?" 

Birdperson averted his eyes, and even as impaired as Morty was he could see Birdperson sifting through the story, choosing which bits to tell him. "What do you remember?" 

"I was having a really bad time at the party. Rick was messed up. Oh god, is it because he was poisoned?"

Birdperson nodded. "Ztardust is very dangerous in large doses. We should take you to a hospital. Both of you." 

_ "Of course _ you're squanching fired!" Squanchy burst out, drawing Morty's attention. 

Mehva was crying with one hand over her mouth. Oh god, was Morty actually feeling  _ sorry _ for her? There was a struggle tilting back and forth inside his chest, and he clutched at his heart. He had no way of regulating his emotions right now. The stress was making him dizzy. A high-pitched buzzing filled his ears. His eyes were glued to Rick's frenzied expression, the glint of rage in his lover's eyes. The room pitched around him suddenly. His stomach heaved and he vomited onto the floor. Birdperson barely leapt out of the way in time to avoid it.

Morty was still dry heaving, his eyes filled with tears, when he felt the bed dip. A familiar hand gently settled on his back.

"Rick," he sniffled. "Rick, what happened to you? What happened?" He clutched at Rick's shirt.

"I'm pissed at you, too, Morty," said Squanchy, coming closer to the bed. "You told me Rick was cheating on you and I went in and anyone with two eyes could see he was too fucked up to consent to  _ anything." _

"He doesn't remember anything," Birdperson said, reentering with an armful of towels. He knelt down beside the bed and began cleaning up Morty's vomit.

"I don't care. Morty wasn't high yet when it happened."

"Can I please just go?" Mehva asked in a small voice

"No," Rick snapped. "I'm calling the fucking cops."

"Morty?" Mehva pleaded, "I didn't mean it."

"Yes, you did." Morty was gulping down air frantically. Rick rubbed his back soothingly. "You  _ t-t-t-told me _ you did!"

"Ha!" Squanchy cut in, triumphant.

"But I couldn't have known any of this would happen."

"If Rick had taken both pills, he would be dead right now." Birdperson's voice was icy, and though the room had to quiet to hear him, his ire was as palpable as Rick's had been. "You'll be leaving this room in handcuffs."

Squanchy disappeared into the bathroom, his phone to his ear. Mehva was eyeing the door, visibly calculating her chances of making a successful run for it. She didn't seem to like her chances, though, and remained in her corner.

Morty was surprised by Birdperson even being here, much less emoting over Rick. The two of them had barely even spoken in so long. Morty hoped that Rick could see what he was seeing. And that they would all remember this when the sun came up.

"Por favor, Pers, per favor no nos dejes," Rick said, voice high, hands wringing. It took Morty a few moments to realize that the reason he hadn't understood was that Rick was speaking Spanish, and not just that his brains were  _ that _ scrambled. "Nunca quise que nada de esto pasara."4

"Y aún así pasó. Tú pusiste a todos en esta posición. No puedo trabajar con alguien así."5

Morty hadn't even known that Birdperson spoke the language. As the two older men leaned into a terse conversation, Morty let his mind slip away, staring vacantly at the way that the harsh light cast deep, black shadows across Birdperson's face. He laid his cheek against Rick's arm, slumping into his warmth. Things were starting to catch up with him. He had no reason to disbelieve what Squanchy had said. Morty had seen someone hurting Rick, and he'd abandoned him in his hour of need. His feelings crashed down like the torrent of a monsoon, pelting his heart. Fat tears beaded in his eyes and his face crinkled. He burned and froze, bereft and  _ angry. _

"Rick," he hiccuped, grasping at his shirt, "I don't feel good."

Instantly, he felt Rick's attention shift to him. A large, cool hand crossed Morty's brow.

"He still has a fever," Rick said. Morty felt dizzy.

"We should still go to the hospital, then," Birdperson answered.

"I don't want to fuck around while they figure out human physiology. Just watch him; I'll be right back."

He was jostled, and when he opened his eyes Birdperson was laying him down on his back. He blinked up at the familiar face, frozen as it was in an unnaturally neutral expression. The room lit up green for an instant. Morty squeezed his eyes closed again. His stomach turned and he gagged. Birdperson turned him onto his side.

"Is It my fault?" Morty asked. His voice sounded so small in his pounding ears.

"No. None of this has been your fault. You are a victim."

"He loves me."

"I know."

Sirens materialized at the edge of his consciousness and grew swiftly. There was some commotion in the room that Morty was having trouble following. Someone called his name just before it faded into the background. Morty laid still, waiting for Rick to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Attempted sexual assault.
> 
> 1\. I won't forgive you.  
> 2\. Why did you do this?  
> 3\. I didn't do anything.  
> 4\. Please, Pers, please don't leave us. I didn't mean for any of this to happen.  
> 5\. And yet it happened. You put us in this position. I can't work with someone like that.


End file.
